


Become

by ProneToRelapse



Series: Faulted Code [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Chris is an angel, Connor tries to come to terms with everything but it's all So Much, Crying, Everybody Loves Markus, Fluff, Gavin is a dick, Hank is a millenial, Hank is grumpy, Humor, M/M, Memes, Romance, Slow Burn, like the slowest of burns, okay not the slowest, still pretty fucken slow though, yeah that's a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-05-29 00:23:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 28,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15061001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProneToRelapse/pseuds/ProneToRelapse
Summary: "What I'd really like to know," Fowler says slowly, disapproving gaze fixed on Connor while Hank wheezes and tries to smother his laughter, "is why Detective Reed has submitted a formal complaint against you saying you threatened him.""No threats were made, Captain," Connor says evenly, calm despite the scowl Reed is levelling at him from the other side of the office. "I know better than to antagonise someone so deeply mired in anti-android stigma.""Then please explain to me why I'm dealing with, and I quote, "that fake plastic detective aggressively T-Posing at me in the bathroom"."Hank loses his battle against professionalism, laughing so hard he nearly falls out of his chair."I was asserting my dominance," Connor says simply.Connor is adjusting. Hank helps, in his own way.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to write something serious. It didn't work. Have several chapters of these losers trying and failing to not fall in love with each other, sprinkled with a dash of good quality memes.
> 
> Hank did the tide pod challenge. Don't change my mind.

Connor is… Conflicted. 

It’s not a new emotion, which is both reassuring and unnerving in equal measure. Deviant or not, now that he’s had time to assess his newfound…  _personhood_ , he finds that he has a name for a lot of the stirrings his code had previously twisted inside him, he can name a lot of the emotions he’s been feeling for quite some time. 

Reassuring because he’s always been a habitual sort of being. The coin flips, the hand rubbing, the methodical way he analyses his surroundings. It’s familiar and he understands it. Previously charted territory. Tangible. 

Unnerving because that means he’s been feeling for a lot longer than he’s been deviant. 

Which is… Strange. To say the least. 

But despite the inner turmoil that theory evokes, that’s not what has Connor conflicted. 

Currently it’s his own reflection, which he stares at with increasing intensity until his eyes are narrowed to thin slits, and the furrow between his brows is more pronounced than ever. The LED on his temple is the source of his burning scrutiny, pulsing intermittent yellow while he wrestles with the decision that’s been troubling him for the past two weeks. 

His hands are tight on the edge of the sink in Hank’s bathroom, his left curled around the handle of a pair of kitchen scissors. He’s been standing there for – he checks his internal clock – sixty-three minutes without moving. Still his LED pulses that infuriating yellow, dipping into red at unpredictable intervals. 

Markus had tried to help, which Connor did appreciate but it didn’t really get him anywhere. Markus had ripped his LED off out of part self-preservation and part defiance. He’d explained he sometimes wishes he still had it, now that androids are free, but that he’s not really regretful of his decision. 

North had told him to keep it and fuck what anybody else thought. 

So no surprises there. 

And still Connor is no further in his own decision to remove the damn thing. However he might be moved to rip it off if it keeps mocking him with its jittery yellow flashing. 

“Connor? You home?”

At the seventy-two minute mark, Connor finally moves, straightening as the sound of Hank’s return home prompts Sumo into thundering out of the bedroom to greet the Lieutenant. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here, boy.” Connor smiles to himself as Hank coos – he’ll deny it but Connor knows the truth – at the dog, finally smoothing out the deep frown creasing his forehead. He gives his reflection on last glance before putting the scissors down and heading out into the living room to greet Hank. 

“Evening, Lieutenant,” Connor says with a cheer he doesn’t feel. “How was the meeting?”

Hank grumbles as he shucks his coat off and hangs it on the rack by the door. “Fuckin’ waste of time. Still don’t see why you got to stay home instead of suffering with me. You probably wanted to go more.”

Connor had, in fact, really wanted to go. Fowler had called a precinct-wide meeting in the wake of Markus’ protest and President Warren’s call to evacuate the city. The officers had been informed of the situation, that all those with families who wanted to leave the city would be granted paid leave of absence following extenuating circumstances. Those who wanted to stay, Hank, Ben, Chris and a few other officers, had been informed of their new parameters regarding their roll in the city. 

And Connor… Wasn’t a police officer. As much as he’d considered himself Hank’s partner, with the end of the protest and the tense wait for the Android Rights Amendment, Connor’s placement at the DPD had effectively been terminated. After all, he was no long the android sent by CyberLife to assist in the deviancy investigation. 

He was… He was just…

“Connor? You okay, there? You’re not gonna shut down or explode or anything, are ya?”

Connor blinks and comes back to himself. Hank’s expression is partly wary, mostly concerned. His eyes flick between whatever expression is on Connor’s face, and the LED cycling at his temple. He resists the urge to cover the damn thing. 

“I apologise, Lieutenant, my thoughts were preoccupied.”

Hank snorts and heads for the kitchen. “Yeah, I figured that part out for myself. What’s got you so wound up? Are you really that disappointed you didn’t get to hear Fowler rant for two hours and Reed bitch about every little thing under the fuckin’ sun?”

“Not disappointed,” Connor lies, reaching down to pet Sumo when he headbutts Connor’s leg for attention. “After all, I no longer hold a placement at the station. My position with CyberLife was terminated and the deviancy investigation is over. I am—“

Connor stops. Something cold and heavy settles low in what would be his stomach, were he human. It’s so foreign and unexpected that it almost feels physical. He swallows pointlessly, but finds he can’t quite stop the action. 

“ _Connor._ Jesus Christ, what’s going  _on_  with you?”

Connor doesn’t answer. He’d been going to say  _‘obsolete’._ He no longer has a purpose, he no longer has any use. He’s use _less._ Outdated. Unwanted and unneeded. He doesn’t feel like an android, he doesn’t feel like a human. He’s stuck in a bizarre limbo between the two. And that reality… It terrifies him. 

“I am sorry, Lieutenant,” Connor says after a moment. “I am still adjusting to the loss of my prime directives. It is difficult to acclimatise when I currently have no… Purpose.”

Hank pauses by the kitchen table, halfway to the fridge. “Christ, Connor, how long have you been stewing about this?”

“I’m not  _stewing-_ “

“How long?”

Arguing won’t get him anywhere, even if there’s something in his newly freed programming that drives him to continue, to antagonise. 

_Petulance,_  he discovers after a quick flutter through his databases. He’ll have to keep a hold on that. A petulant android. It’s almost ridiculous. 

“Since the revolution.” The admittance twists something familiar inside him. 

_Shame._ He doesn’t like it. 

Hank sighs and turns to the fridge, opening it and retrieving a beer for himself. “Look, Connor, you’re free now. CyberLife don’t control you, you haven’t  _got_ a prime directive anymore, and you’re not gonna get one. That was kind of the whole point of the revolution, or did you miss that memo?”

Connor grits his teeth.  _Frustration._ That’s familiar, too. “I know I’m not going to get another directive. What I mean is, I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m… I’m stuck. I don’t have a purpose anymore. I don’t have a reason to exist. It’s…”

The cold, heavy weight in his not-stomach intensifies. Something else shivers up his back, tightens his chest, speeds up the pump of his regulator. 

_Fear._

Connor twists his hands together. “Lieutenant, I want to be useful. If I still belonged to CyberLife they would deactivate me. Until Warren and the senate make their decision, I cannot work. I have no experience other than our time investigating deviants. I was made for the sole purpose of hunting them down and now I… I’m lost.”

There’s a low, carbonated hiss as Hank twists the cap off his beer. He leans on the counter but doesn’t drink. Not yet. Instead he’s surveying Connor intently, eyes narrowed like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle. 

“Humans don’t have directives,” Hank says after a pause. “All we do is stumble through life, hoping we’ll do the right thing most of the time and that we’ll be as happy as we can be while we do it. I’m tellin’ you, Connor, out of every human on the planet, hardly any of them know what they’re doing.”

From what he knows of humans, Connor doesn’t actually doubt that. 

“Do you actually want to work for the DPD again?”

Wanting is the newest and strangest notion Connor has had to deal with. It’s odd, wanting things after so long spent… Well, not. It comes hand in hand with having opinions on things, which is also a wildly unique experience. 

Judging by the positive twinge he feels when considering returning to the station and receiving a new case, Connor supposed he does want to return to work. Very much so. 

“I do,” Connor tells Hank, nodding. “I want to be a detective. It’s interesting, I’m good at it. I… I enjoy it.”

Hank’s mouth twists into a small grin. “Weird to hear you talk about enjoying things. I guess it shouldn’t be. You’ve always seemed more human than you should’ve. I wouldn’t be surprised if you were most of the way to deviant from the beginning.”

Connor has already considered that theory. Is still considering it. Mostly believes it as fact already. He doesn’t want to think about that. 

“I am impatient for Warren to announce the senate’s decision,” Connor says finally. “Maybe then I’ll know how to proceed.”

“Never hurts to have a plan,” Hank agrees, taking a swig from his bottle. He points the neck of it at Connor. “But just so you know, there are quite a few people at the precinct who’d be glad to have you come back. I figure Fowler won’t be too hard to convince to let you get sworn in.”

The weight in Connor’s stomach lessens, his chest loosening considerably. “You think I’ll be able to come back?”

“I think they’ll be begging you to.” 

Connor  _beams._ _Relief._ That’s a nice emotion. He likes that one. 

Hank snorts and moves away from the counter towards the living room. “In the meantime just… Jesus, just relax a bit. Take Sumo for a walk if you want. Try not to spend so much time in your own head. Trust me, it never does any good.”

It’s impossible for Connor to do anything but that, really. His mental capabilities are unmatched and unparalleled. He’s a prototype with almost infinite knowledge at his fingertips. For him to not think would require nothing short of entering stasis for a prolonged amount of time, which he doesn’t really want to do. If he could-

“ _That._  Jesus, that’s exactly what I’m talking about, Connor. Stop overanalysing, come sit down, watch tv or something.”

“I was just-“

Hank grabs Connor’s wrist with an irritable grunt and tugs him towards the sofa. “Sit down, for God’s sake. At least stop just hovering there. It’s creepy.”

Hank’s hand around Connor’s wrist is warm and calloused, and a surge of prickling static trickles up Connor’s arm at the contact. He allows himself to be tugged along and pushed down onto the sofa as Hank sits beside him, but makes to stand again the moment Hank is settled. 

“Oh, no you don’t. Sumo!”

With an agreeable bark, the dog ambles over and jumps onto the sofa, lying almost completely on Connor with a considerable weight across his lap. Hank’s smile is smug, so Connor refrains from lifting the dog off of him to prove that Sumo’s weight isn’t enough to pin him down. 

“Just sit and watch tv, Connor. Not everything in life has a reason, ya know. That’s the whole point of deviants. You’re irrational now. Just like humans. It sucks. Lucky you.”

_Lucky me._ Connor works his fingers idly through Sumo’s fur, glancing at Hank as he flicks through channels until he finds something he wants to watch. Something warm glows in Connor’s chest. 

_Yes. Lucky me._

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor takes Sumo for a walk and runs a diagnostic. But with feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow you guys move fast. i got like 20 hits in the first 5 minutes of posting this. i'm love you.
> 
> also i have like 6 chapters of this already written and ready to post, so please forgive me slutting about for attention while i post the second chapter on the same day. 
> 
> (i am absolutely slutting about for attention)
> 
> disclaimer: i love detroit ironically. my main goal in life is to make david cage angery.

Hank had said humans were irrational and hardly ever knew what they were doing. While that notion is partly reassuring, Connor isn’t entirely mollified by it. He doesn’t just want to sit around the house like a dead weight, especially not while Hank gets to go back to the station and be useful himself. 

While Hank has given Connor a place to stay while they wait out the senate’s announcement, Connor figures he can at least do something productive with his time. He’s up before dawn when his stasis protocol completes and he finds the idea of spending the next however many hours doing nothing with himself unacceptable.

He fills Sumo’s food bowl and sets down fresh water. That much at least he can do. A quick scan of the apartment and Connor is momentarily stuck. He’s not a housekeeping model, so he’s not standardly equipped with those faculties, but he surmises it won’t be too hard to get the place in order. Once Hank is out of the house and can’t grumble and attempt to stop him. 

Once Sumo is fed he paws at Connor’s legs and whines and Connor takes the hint and grabs the lead off of the hook by the door, clipping it onto Sumo’s collar. He opens the door quietly and they slip out into the early morning, still crisp and fresh, the sun just beginning to rise. 

Connor maps the most efficient route to take to give Sumo an optimum amount of exercise, but before he can set off the dog is dragging him in the opposite direction. 

“Sumo! Sumo, wait!” Connor tugs the lead and tries to bring him to heel, but Sumo obviously knows where he wants to go, so Connor gives in with a sigh and quickens his pace so Sumo is no longer unceremoniously hauling along an android. 

While they walk, Connor takes a moment to just… be. He assumes that had been what Hank had been instructing him to do. Take some time, look around, don’t analyse. Connor tries to do that, just look, and considers deactivating his database connection just for a little while. 

No, he needs to learn how to do this as he is. Changing himself seems rather incongruous after the revolution. They’d been fighting to exist as they are. He wouldn’t be  _living_  as himself if he changed aspects of his being just to accommodate his newfound discomfort with his currently directionless state. 

So he just walks while Sumo leads them to wherever it is they’re going, looking around at the quiet streets sparkling as the dawn light refracts off crisp, untouched snow. Stationary cars are blanketed by white, there are no people on the streets, no sound but the light breeze, the crunch of snow underfoot, and Sumo’s excited panting. 

It’s peaceful. Connor likes it. 

The pair turn down a side street and Sumo stops to cock his leg and remark his territory before continuing. They emerge near a small park, mostly grass with a small gated play area to the far right. Sumo strains at his lead with a loud bark and Connor bends to unclip the lead, watching as the huge animal bounds off into the snow, throwing up clouds of white as he gallops off. Connor watches quietly, calmly, satisfied that at least he’s accomplished a small task by bringing Sumo out to play. 

It seems that his task is not completed, however, when Sumo gambols over, a large stick in his mouth. He slides to a stop at Connor’s feet, pawing at the snow and whining. 

Connor extends a hand down for the stick and Sumo lumbers a few feet away, front end down and tail wagging furiously as he waits, eyes fixed on the stick in Connor’s hand. 

He draws his arm back and throws, Sumo bursting after it with a volley of ecstatic barks. He lunges for the stick as it lands, rolling in the snow, and comes galloping back covered in white, for Connor to throw the it again. 

They do that for a while, Connor throwing the stick farther and farther until Sumo is panting heavily and lays down to gnaw at the stick rather than chase it. 

Connor clips the lead back on and clicks his tongue as he’s seen Hank do to urge Sumo to head home. 

Back inside is warm, and as they both shake snow from themselves Connor spots Hank sitting at the kitchen table, bent sleepily over a steaming mug of coffee. He looks up as they enter, smiling faintly. 

“Enjoy yourselves?”

Connor pats Sumo who heads to his water bowl and slobbers everywhere. “Yes, we did.” 

Hank yawns so wide his jaw clicks. “I’ve got to head to the station. You gonna be okay?”

“Of course. I have a few things I’d like to get done today.”

Hank offers him a sleepy smile, but it vanishes quickly as his tired eyes focus properly on Connor’s face. Connor shifts uncomfortably. 

“Is everything alright, Lieutenant?”

Hank stares at him. “Are you cold?”

“I don’t feel the cold. The temperature outside was reading at an average of thirty-point-four degrees. Is that relevant?”

Hank makes a vague gesture towards his own face. “You’re… You look like you’re blushing. From the cold. I think it’s blushing? It’s blue.”

Frowning, Connor makes a quick trip to the bathroom to look at his reflection. LED spinning yellow he looks at his face. Hank’s right. There’s a faint hue of blue over his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. A quick diagnostic reveals that he’s experiencing a reaction similar to vasodilation in humans. Naturally it would be blue. 

It is… Strange. But not bad. 

“I wasn’t aware I had the ability,” Connor says, loud enough that Hank can hear him. “I was meant to integrate with humans. Blushing blue would certainly strike me as an odd feature to install in an android with that purpose.”

“You’ve never done it before,” Hank replies, coming to stand in the doorway, coffee mug in hand. “Maybe you  _couldn’t_  do it before. Maybe being deviant has… I dunno, flicked a couple of switches that weren’t on.”

“I don’t have  _switches_ ,” Connor says drily, throwing Hank a look. “I have always been aware of all my functions.”

“Have you? Seems to me you weren’t feeling until a few weeks ago. But you can now.”

“I emulated emotions. They’re just… More real now.”

“I meant feel physically.”

“I don’t. I can register pressure and temperature responses in my receptors, but-“

Connor breaks off with a strangled sound as Hank jabs him with a finger just beneath the right side of his rib cage. The touch sends a wavering jolt through Connor’s body and he flinches away. The touch is not unpleasant, but it gives him the distinct desire to wriggle away from it. 

“What was that for?” Connor demands. Hank looks incredibly pleased with himself. 

“A ticklish android,” he says, sipping his coffee with a quiet sense of amusement. “That’s a new one.”

Ticklish? Connor can’t be ticklish. He’s not programmed to register sensations like that. Its beyond his capabilities, or at least it  _should_ be. His LED flickers briefly to red, he catches it in the peripheral view of his reflection. 

“I don’t understand,” Connor says softly. “I would have registered before now, surely? I don’t…” He rubs his palms together. His receptors register the pressure, his external temperature is optimal. He digs a fingernail into his palm. It pinches. Connor blinks. 

“I need to run a diagnostic,” he says at once, straightening up. “Something is wrong.”

“What, because you can feel?”

“Yes, Lieutenant. I should not be able to. Androids register pressure. They do not  _feel_.”

Hank raises an eyebrow. “You know the revolution literally just proved the complete opposite of that, right?”

“You  _know_  I mean physically, Lieutenant. Don’t be obtuse.”

“Mm. Can’t help it.”

Connor ignores him instead of sniping back like he wants to. He’s too preoccupied by what this means. He catalogues all of his receptors and their feedback cycles. Everything is normal, he’s registering the light pressure of his clothing as usual, that he can mostly ignore because it’s familiar to his programming. But the sensation of pain, of being ticklish, he doesn’t understand why he can suddenly feel that. 

A little dialogue box pops up in his vision. 

**_Receptor Settings_ ** **_ACTIVE_ **

**_Touch Sensitivity_ ** **** **** **** **_ACTIVE(!)_ **

**_Tactile Response_ ** **** **_INACTIVE_ **

**_Pleasure Sensors   INACTIVE_ ** **_(*)_ **

**_(!) Touch Sensitivity activation_ ** **_stalled_ ** **_pending system restart_ ** **_. Please enter registered CyberLife stasis assistant and select all desired updates for Touch Sensitivity Update Patch 8-2.09_ **

**_(*)_ ** **** **_Update Required. Current_ ** **_software_ ** **_incompatible._ ** **_Please_ ** **_enter_ ** **_registered CyberLife_ ** **_stasis_ ** **_assistant_ ** **_and select all desired updates_ ** **_for_ ** **_Pleasure Update Patch 6-7.04_ **

“Oh.”

That’s… Unexpected. 

“You gonna leave me hangin’ or what?”

“Seems I’m in need of an update,” Connor says slowly. “My receptors are malfunctioning. I’ll need to enter stasis to repair them.”

“And what will that do?”

“It will reset my tactile responses back to their normal settings.” 

Connor is many things. Fast, agile, analytical, deviant. He is also, apparently, a massive liar. 

“That seems like a raw deal,” Hank says with a frown. “You don’t want to feel?”

“I don’t want to malfunction,” Connor says, as honest as he can be while keeping this new knowledge secret. It feels private, exciting. He doesn’t want to share it yet. Not until he has a chance to enter stasis and see what happens when the update is properly installed. 

The answer doesn’t seem to satisfy Hank but he doesn’t press the matter, just slinks off to get ready for work. Connor takes a deep breath he doesn’t need, but it helps to steady him so he takes another before heading out into the living room. 

He won’t enter stasis just yet. He has things to do before he opens this new avenue of sensation. 

It’s exciting, having something to look forward to. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> connor: turns out i'm ticklish. it's just a malfunction i'll fix it  
> hank: hnrrgrgh wanna touch hot robot man  
> connor: what was that lieutenant?  
> hank: i sAID I DON'T CARE MAN GET OFF MY DICK


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor upgrades to househusband. Hank pretends he doesn't like it. Sumo loves his dads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bless you all for reading the glorified shitpost that is my writing.
> 
> i’m overwhelmed by the lovely things you’ve all been commenting. blease it’s too much for my little gay heart to handle <3
> 
> if any of you spot any typos pls let me know because i am a dumbass.
> 
> if any of you wanna shout at me on twitter, i'm @gayandfae. come holler because i have like 12 followers and so Many Things To Say
> 
> (I can’t stop updating this piece of crap. Someone take my laptop away from me)

Connor enters stasis the next afternoon after downloading a few AX400 protocols for housekeeping and maintenance. While Hank is at work he gives the house a thorough and much needed clean, disposing of all the empty takeout boxes and mouldy food in the cupboards. He locates three bottles of whiskey that he promptly empties down the sink and finds a packet of what he assumes at one point was some form of vegetable, but the sell-by date is so long past that the product has started to decompose and even Connor doesn’t want to risk analysing it despite the lack of taste buds.  

 

He dusts and sweeps and mops the kitchen floor, vacuums the living room and bleaches round the bathroom. Sumo stays mostly out of his way other than his furious barking at the vacuum cleaner which amuses Connor greatly.  

 

Once the house is respectable and cleaner than Connor has ever seen it, he takes some of the cash he’d put aside should CyberLife seize his assets during the case, a good thing he did because that’s exactly what they’ve done, and heads out to find a store that’s still open despite the evacuation.  

 

He finds one after about an hour or so of wandering, with no one inside except an older man who sits at the counter watching something on a small television screen. Connor politely enquires as to why he hasn’t left with the evacuation order, to which the reply is, “I was born here, ain’t nothin’ gonna get me out of this city while I’m still breathin’,” and he scowls briefly at Connor’s LED but doesn’t refuse him service.  

 

He stocks up on essentials like dog food and toiletries and does a quick search to generate a few recipes that shouldn’t be too difficult to cook even with his inexperience. He fills two baskets with his purchases before he relents and picks up a six pack of beer to keep Hank placated when he eventually finds his whiskey missing.  

 

Back home he puts the shopping away and lets Sumo out into the yard to do his business. With all his self-appointed errands completed and the house to himself until Hank comes home, Connor settles down in the armchair and closes his eyes, opening the dialogue box he’s had minimised since yesterday.  

 

 **_CyberLife Stasis Suite activated. Updates pending. Please select all desired updates._ **  

 

Connor hesitates for a long moment. He’s still adjusting and the installation of all the updates might very well overwhelm him. Opting for logic over instinct he selects the tactile receptor and touch sensitivity updates and initiates the protocol.  

 

 **_CyberLife Stasis Protocol ready._ **  

 

 **_Tactile Response   ACTIVE_ **  

 

 **_Pending Update(s) 1/27……._ **  

 

 **_Touch Sensitivity   ACTIVE_ **  

 

 **_Pending Update(s) 4/9……._ **  

 

 **_Time to completion 00:02:59:59_ **  

 

 **_Initiate CyberLife Stasis protocol?_ **  

 

 **_Y/N_ **  

 

Connor hits yes.  

 

 **_CyberLife Stasis Protocol initiated._ **  

 

 **_Time to completion 00:02:59:57_ **  

 

 **_00:02:59:56_ **  

 

 **_00:02:59:55_ **  

 

 **_00:02:59:54_ **  

 

 **_00:02:59:53_ **  

 

 

— 

 

Connor is sure that of all things Hank expects to see when he comes home, it’s not to find a state-of-the-art RK800 series prototype CyberLife android lying down on the floor with its face buried in the soft fur of a Saint Bernard.  

 

“Good evening, Lieutenant,” Connor says as he hears the door close. His voice is muffled by Sumo’s considerable fluff.  

 

“What… In god’s name are you doing?” 

 

“I installed some system updates this afternoon.” 

 

“Okay and you seriously malfunctioned?” 

 

“On the contrary, all my systems are nominal. I’m operating at peak efficiency.” 

 

“Great. That’s great news. Good to hear. Then please explain to me why you’re planking on my dog.” 

 

Connor pushes himself upright, turning to face Hank with a grin. “I installed some updates. I can  _feel_ , Lieutenant.” 

 

Hank’s eyes widen. “I thought it was a malfunction?” 

 

“Yes, well, initially so did I. But after entering stasis following an in-depth diagnostic, I found that I had simply not completed the necessary updates and reboot required for the new software to initialise.” 

 

“God— In English, please?” 

 

Connor sighs but there’s no real irritation behind it. “I turned myself off and back on again and now I can physically feel things.” 

 

“And lying face down on the dog?” 

 

“He’s  _so soft,_ Lieutenant!” 

 

Hank gives a loud bark of laughter at that, shrugging out of his coat. “I’m happy for you, Connor. I have to admit, the thought of you not being able to feel stuff was depressing. Like, what if you wanted to touch someone? Or they wanted to touch you? Sometimes that kind of comfort…” Hank trails off and turns away quickly. Connor reads an elevation in his core temperature and heart rate.  

 

Well, isn’t that interesting? 

 

“I wasn’t aware anyone wanted to touch me,” Connor says, tilting his head curiously. Hank clears his throat gruffly, muttering to himself.  

 

“Hypothetically,” Hank says, voice strained.  

 

Hypothetically.  

 

Hypothetically, if  _Hank_  wanted to touch Connor, then Connor certainly wouldn’t have a problem with that.  

 

“Did you  _clean_  in here?!” 

 

“The whole house,” Connor affirms, getting to his feet. His clothes brush against his skin uncomfortably. Designed for durability and function, not comfort. He grimaces. He’ll have to see about getting some new clothes. If the evacuation ever gets lifted and shops start to open again. That also requires him to get a job and get paid. He sighs. One problem at a time.  

 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Hank says, coming out of the bathroom. “You’re not a servant, Connor.” 

 

“I wanted to,” Connor replies, brushing dog fur off his trousers. They’re uncomfortably restrictive now that he thinks about it. “Like I said, I wanted to feel useful. And to find a way to repay you for letting me stay here.” 

 

Hank goes a little pink round the ears. “I told you, you’re welcome here as long as you like. Place isn’t so lonely with you around.” 

 

Connor takes the admission with no small sense of pride, inclining his head politely. “Thank you, Lieutenant.” 

 

“Jesus, please,  _please_ call me Hank.” 

 

“Hank,” Connor says softly. “Thank you, Hank.” 

 

“You’re welcome,” Hank grumbles awkwardly.  

 

“I do actually have a favour to ask.” 

 

“Oh, yeah?” 

 

“Yes. Would it be possible to borrow an item or two of clothing? My CyberLife uniform is quite unpleasant to wear.” 

 

Hank snorts and his face splits into a wide grin. “If I were you, I’d burn the whole outfit. Say a real “fuck you” to the lot of ‘em. But sure. I’m not sure what’ll fit you, but I’m sure I can find something.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my chapters are short. just like my attention span. they'll probably get longer once i figure out what the fuck i'm doing with this.
> 
> Connor: i clean, i cook, i feel things now. tell me i'd make a good husband hank. hank tell me i'd make a good husband. hank. why don't you want me to be your husband hank.  
> hank: so like.............u wanna touch someone? like..............sexually?  
> connor: what  
> hank: SHUT UP CONNOR FUCK.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> President Warren makes her announcement. Connor and Hank aggressively hold hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know nothing about the american legal system. i know nothing about amendments. but that's okay because apparently neither does david cage. :)
> 
> if you're still reading this i love you. that's me in your kitchen eating your food. but with love.

“Just because I replaced the whiskey with beer does not mean you should drink  _more_  beer, Lieutenant.”

“Oh, gimme a fuckin’ break…”

Hank grumbles from the kitchen and Connor allows himself a private smile. Hank hasn’t said much regarding Connor’s recent kitchen restock besides a muttered “thanks,” but he’s obviously noticed the lack of anything stronger than beer in his fridge or cupboards. Connor won’t make him cut back completely, after all alcohol withdrawal and the delirium tremens would be detrimental to Hank’s health more so than the long term effects of high-alcohol content beverages. Instead he substitutes for a lower volume, and Hank knows better than to argue, especially when it’s Connor’s own money that’s spent on supplies. 

“If you could switch off the nagging wife protocol you’ve got goin’ on, that’d be swell,” Hank gripes and Connor rolls his eyes. 

“Just come and sit down, Lieutenant. I want to know what happens.” He gestures to the paused film on the tv screen. 

“Can’t you just do your brain-google thing? And I  _told_  you to call me Hank.”

“I don’t  _want_  to “brain-google” it. I want to watch it myself.  _Hank._ ”

Hank sits down with a huff anyway and Sumo stretches out so his back legs are splayed across Hank’s legs. His head rests in Connor’s lap and he pets his ears gently, still marvelling that he can register the texture as  _soft._ That coupled with the soft, warm fabric of Hank’s old DPD hoodie and the pair of old sweats Hank had dug out for him, has Connor feeling more comfortable than he ever has. He’s barefoot, which is another strange notion. He can’t ever remember being without shoes or socks, but the newly updated sensors all over his skin are sending him new information constantly and he enjoys it immensely. If he were human, he’s so relaxed he would probably drift off to sleep. As it stands, he actually thinks he might be in danger of slipping into stasis, he’s so comfortable. 

“Why do I gotta get the back end?” Hank complains, swatting Sumo’s tail away from his face. 

“I’ve elevated my external temperature by three-point-two degrees,” Connor explains. 

“Right, great.  _And_?”

“I’m warmer. He’s comfortable.”

Hank mutters something about being replaced and Sumo being a traitor but Connor ignores him in favour of resuming the film. He likes what he’s seen so far, even if it looks dated. Hank had said it was one of his favourites when he was young, so Connor had happily agreed to watch it. 

This time it’s Connor that interrupts the playback. He pauses the film as his LED whirrs urgently and Hank looks over as Connor stiffens.

“You good? Glitch in the matrix?”

“No,” Connor says, switching from the film playback input to the news network. President Warren’s face fills the screen, standing at her podium as reporters take their seats. 

“Oh, shit,” Hank says, putting his beer down and sitting up straighter. Connor is of much the same sentiment, that creeping, prickly sensation back in his stomach. He’s anxious. So very, very anxious. 

“Wasn’t it supposed to be a scheduled announcement?” Hank murmurs. 

“Yes.”

“This doesn’t look good.”

No. It doesn’t. Connor swallows reflexively, fingers digging into Sumo’s fur in search of some form of comfort. He feels twitchy and off-balance. Like his internal gyroscope and actuators are faulty. He doesn’t like this. Not at all. 

Hank’s hand pries his fingers away from Sumo and Connor glances down as the Lieutenant links their fingers together, squeezing tightly. Reassuringly. He’s not looking at Connor, his eyes are fixed firmly on the screen. He’s just as worried, Connor realises. The thought brings him a small amount of comfort. 

“ _These past few weeks have been a time of difficulty for many of the citizens of Detroit_ ,” Warren begins sombrely. Cameras flicker madly in the foreground. “ _Since the events_ _of the Android protest in_ _Woodward Avenue on November eleventh, humanity has been faced with the irrefutable evidence that androids are thinking, feeling beings.”_

Hank’s fingers tighten around Connor’s. 

“ _Since these events, the senate has gathered numerous times to discuss the_ _future for the city and, in turn, the United States of America._

_“In the wake of the protests and the actions conducted by the military during this time, an Amendment has been put into place that will take effect as of December sixth.”_

Tomorrow. Connor feels nauseous. He doesn’t know how. 

“ _Androids will, going forward, be recognised as people, free-thinking_ _and independent. All previous owners of_ _a_ _ndroid’s will be reimbursed for their purchases through government mandated payment schemes while CyberLife’s assets are frozen pending investigation. The evacuation of Detroit will be lifted on December seventh,_ _and temporary embassy offices will be opened so that androids may register for identification documentation_ _giving them the right to work and earn money. Emergency housing will be established until_ _androids are able to house themselves within properties they choose to rent or purchase. Henceforth all criminal activities, aggression, and violence intended towards androids wellbeing and welfare will be treated as hate crimes under new jurisdiction._

_“We must learn to life in peace as we recognise this new species sharing our planet. May God bless you, and may God bless the United States of America.”_

The rest of the interview fades into static. Connor’s vision blurs alarmingly and he blinks, wetness trickling down his cheeks. He’s crying. 

Hank says nothing, just pulls Connor into his arms as best he can with Sumo sprawled over them. Connor sobs into his shoulder, grateful beyond words that Hank is there, that Hank’s own breathing is unsteady, that tears are dripping onto Connor’s neck from Hank’s own eyes. Neither of them say anything, just hold onto each other as the realisation that Connor is his own person, that Connor can now truly be  _free_ , sinks in and opens up so many new possibilities that it’s beyond overwhelming. He curls his fingers into Hank’s shirt, trying to ground himself. 

“You’re coming to the station with me first thing in the morning,” Hank finally says, voice low and rough, muffled by Connor’s shoulder. “We’re getting you onto the force if it’s the last thing I do.”

Connor cries harder. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> connor: i'm a real boy  
> hank: you're coming to the station with me, and you're gonna tell reed exactly how much of a little bitch you think he is  
> connor: how do i do that?  
> hank: okay, so there used to be this thing called 'vine...'


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank petitions to get Connor back onto the force. Reed is there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm writing this obsessively. i s2g i thought about connor t-posing while i was taking a shower and said to my partner "hey you know what would be funny?" and now i'm fucking here
> 
> i love my boys so much.
> 
> not gavin. 
> 
> i love you all too. your beautiful words mean so much to me.

The station is operating with a skeleton staff when Hank leads them in the next morning, and it is morning shockingly enough. Turns out when it’s for someone else’s benefit, Hank actually does have a punctual streak in him. But Connor already knew that Hank was never anything but reliable. To him, anyway.

 

There’s only one receptionist at the desk, an android, Connor is only somewhat surprised to see. She offers Hank a brief, polite smile, one that widens into something a little more genuine when she spots Connor close on Hank’s heels.

 

“Good morning, Lieutenant Anderson. Good morning, Connor!”

 

“Good morning,” Connor says politely. “I didn’t catch your name.”

 

“Lucy,” the android tells him with a smile. He can tell she’s only recently chosen it.

 

“It’s pretty,” he tells her and she beams at him.

 

“Go on through.”

 

“Thanks, Lucy,” Hank says, stepping through the gate. He side-eyes Connor as the head round to the bullpen. “Flirting with the receptionist now, are we?”

 

Connor stops dead. He hadn’t expected that at all. “What?”

 

“You back there. That was flirting.”

 

Connor blinks. “I didn’t realise. That wasn’t my intention.” Humans have the strangest notions of conveying interest. If basic decency is one of them, no wonder they get things wrong most of the time. 

 

“You could do worse,” Hank says. He offers a vague shrug like he doesn’t care, and his disinterest would sting if Connor wasn’t as fluent in ‘Hank’ as he is. Even without a quick scan of Hank’s heart rate and core temperature, Connor can see the tightening around his eyes.

 

_Jealousy_.

 

Connor quite likes how it looks on him.

 

“Oh, what the fuck? I thought CyberLife recalled the talking garbage can.”

 

Hank groans softly. “Reed. I haven’t had nearly enough coffee to deal with your shit, yet.”

 

“Yeah, fuck off, Anderson, I’m not talking to you.” Reed stalks up to Connor, jabbing him hard in the chest. Connor suppresses a wince. “The fuck’re you doing here? I thought you’d been scrapped. And now you’ve dashed my hopes.”

 

“I apologise for disappointing you, Detective,” Connor says, expression the perfect picture of regret. “It wasn’t my intention to undermine your authority in the archives. I was simply acting in accordance with my mission parameters.”

 

“You _assaulted_ me, you fucking-“

 

“Anderson! Connor! My office, _now_.”

 

Connor’s never been quite so happy to hear Fowler’s rough voice until this moment. With an exaggerated shrug of apology, Connor turns away from Reed and follows Hank into Fowler’s office.

 

“Did you actually assault him?” Hank murmurs as Connor closes the door behind them. He nods. Hank grins.

 

“Good man.” He claps Connor on the shoulder.

 

_Good man._

 

Connor swallows and takes a seat behind Hank while Fowler glares between the two of them. He’s not perturbed, it appears that’s just how the Captain’s face looks most of the time. Connor supposed it wouldn’t do to point out excessive frowning promotes early-onset wrinkles. He wisely stays quiet.

 

“Hank’s been bending my ear about you coming to work here,” Fowler says after a long pause. Connor glances at Hank, but he’s looking at Fowler with an uncharacteristically calm expression.

 

“I would like the opportunity,” Connor says, nodding. “Now that I’m able to work, I think it would be best if I put my analytical skills to use here. I have experience, in a manner of speaking.”

 

“It’s not a bad idea,” Fowler says, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “With Detroit the centre of the whole android uprising, we’re gonna be under a lot of scrutiny once the evacuation’s lifted. Not everyone is going to just roll over and accept you. Androids are going to need one of their own fighting in their corner. If the android fighting for them is a cop, then that might hold a bit more influence.”

 

Connor nods slowly. “I understand.”

 

“We’ve got police assistant androids who want to stay, beat cops and the like. Seems only fitting we have an android detective. Far as I can see, you’ve only ever been an asset to us. Especially with all you’ve done for _that_.”

 

The ‘that’ Fowler is pointing to is Hank, who snorts but doesn’t disagree. Connor smiles faintly.

 

“So.” Fowler folds his hands on the desk. “You’ll be skipping out on quite a few steps. College degree, academy training, fitness training, work experience, so we need to come to some sort of agreement.”

 

“He’s has work experience,” Hank interjects. “He worked with me for the whole deviancy case, and I watched him parkour halfway across the rooftops of Detroit without breaking a sweat.”

 

“I can’t sweat-“

 

“Figure of speech, Con.”

 

Con?

 

_Con???_

 

Something fizzles in Connor’s brain. Was that a nickname? He hopes it was a nickname. God, let it be a nickname.

 

“And he’s got the entire internet in his head. He’s got an advantage, sure, but we’d be insane not to take this chance, Jeffery.”

 

Fowler sighs. “I still want him to sit an exam. And he’ll need to be certified to carry a firearm. You won’t be able to start immediately.” The last is said to Connor directly. “There’ll be a wait while I get this sorted. But it’s in the works. You just need to sit tight.”

 

“I’m grateful,” Connor says sincerely. “I really am.”

 

Fowler’s lips twist into a smile that’s as surprising as it is unnerving to see on his usually stoic face. “Don’t thank me. Hank and Chris have been bending my ears for weeks.”

 

Connor looks at Hank who looks at the ceiling, cheeks flushed. “I wanted a competent partner,” he grumbles. “Didn’t want to get saddled with Reed.”

 

“God forbid,” Connor says through a smile. Hank kicks him lightly.

 

“I don’t want to hear anything between you two and Detective Reed,” Fowler admonishes. “I know he’s an asshole, but stay out of his way. Don’t add fuel to the fire. Let him stew with his shitty opinions and do your own thing. But.” Fowler’s gaze hardens. “He does _anything_ to you once you’re on the force, be it verbal or physical, report him directly to me. That shit won’t stand round here anymore. And off the record, put him on the ground before Hank does. _Please_.”

 

Hank laughs and Connor smiles. “Will do, Captain. Thank you.”

 

Fowler nods. “Close the door behind you.”

 

Hank doesn’t say anything until they’re out of the precinct, though he does flip Reed off the entire time he’s in view, which Connor finds very amusing. Once outside, Hank turns to Connor, eyes sparkling. He looks younger, somehow.

 

“Hank, I… I don’t know how to thank you.”

 

“You don’t have to. Connor, just… Do good on the exam, get back onto the force with me and… Maybe stick around? For a bit at least. I’d… Well, I’m used to you now.”

 

As if Connor would ever consider going anywhere else.

 

“It’s my dearest wish to stay with you, Hank,” Connor says, and blindsides Hank with his ridiculously blunt honesty. “You make me feel like I’m home.”

 

“Ah, Christ,” Hank says gruffly. “Gonna make an old man cry, Con.”

 

_Con_.

 

“I’d never disrespect my elders like that.”

 

“ _Oi_. Fuck’re you calling “elder”?”

 

“You just said-“

 

“I’m allowed. Come on, I’m hungry. Let’s get breakfast.”

 

“I don’t eat, Hank.”

 

“Yeah, but I do. And besides, you need some new clothes. There’s gotta be at least one store open somewhere. I’d like my hoodie back eventually.”

 

Connor fights back a smile. “I regret to inform you, Lieutenant, that the hoodie has found new ownership. And I’m quite reluctant to return it.”

 

Hank snorts, nudging him with his elbow. “You’ll get your own soon enough.”

 

“Yes, but your one smells like you.”

 

Hank chokes and Connor takes a moment to consider if maybe he shouldn’t have said that out loud.

 

“Is that… Is that a good thing?” Hank asks, askance.

 

“It is to me,” Connor tells him. Well, the damage has already been done. No point backtracking now.

 

“Oh. Right. Good.” Hank stuffs his hands in his pockets. “So. Breakfast. Then clothes.”

 

Connor falls into step beside him as he heads off down the street. They walk in companionable silence for a few minutes before Connor feels the need to break it.

 

“I feel as though I should invite Markus. His taste in fashion is quite good, apparently. He says it’s his father Carl’s influence.”

 

Hank eyes him suspiciously. “Why does that feel like it’s gonna be a dig at me.”

 

“I don’t know. I’m only saying, if I’m going to be choosing clothes, perhaps I should be doing so with someone whose wardrobe isn’t so…”

 

“Isn’t so what?”

 

“… _Eclectic_.”

 

“You’re on thin fucking ice, Con.”

 

He’s not really and they both know it. Connor links his arm through Hank’s as they cross the road. Hank’s heart rate picks up rapidly but he doesn’t say anything or pull his arm away. Connor likes the way his own pump regulator slips into double time in response.

 

They really aren’t so different after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fowler: he has to take the detective test  
> connor: i can do that  
> hank: see i told you people wanted you back  
> fowler: because you won't shut up about how much you miss your boyfriend  
> hank: WHAT WAS THAT SOMEONE SAID SOMETHING OVER THERE THAT I NEED TO BE LISTENING TO


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Markus imparts some wisdom. Hank imparts some fashion advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> markus is the voice of reason. which is funny considering how surprisingly extra he can be. 
> 
> hank ur millennial is showing.

Despite Connor’s previous concerns, Hank is not a terrible shopping partner. Turns out his terrible sense of fashion extends only to his personal taste in attire, because the amount of times Hank has picked up a garish shirt, held it up to his own chest and said “it’s gross, I love it,” has quickly ticked up into double figures. 

For Connor Hank has selected a few more subtle items and currently had them draped over his arm as he peruses shoes. 

“Trainers?” Hank asks. “I know you have a certain aesthetic to uphold, but when you’re slouching around in sweats and my hoodie, you want to commit to the look.”

“What,” Connor says, dumbfounded, “are you talking about?”

“Well, you can’t wear dress shoes with a casual outfit, Connor. You’ve gotta dress down when you’re dressing down.”

Connor is absolutely, one hundred percent not following Hank’s reasoning. 

Still, he doesn’t resist as Hank shoves him into a changing room, handing outfits to him over the door. It seems Hank has a vested interest in the clothes Connor wears. He’s chosen a lot of button downs and sweaters. And some jeans that look even tighter than his CyberLife pants. 

“We’ll grab you some underwear as well,” Hank says thoughtfully. Connor pauses partway through undressing. 

“Why? It’s not necessary. I don’t perspire like a human, so it’s not really a requirement.”

There is a very long pause from Hank outside the door. 

“Connor.  _Connor._ Do you not- Are you not. Wearing underwear.”

“It’s not necessary,” Connor says again. 

Hank gives a weak, strained laugh. “That’s just  _great_. We’re getting you underwear.”

“But, why-“

“For my own damn peace of mind, Connor!”

As far as reasons go, it’s a very confusing one. 

Still, Connor approves of three chosen outfits and concedes to a pair of nondescript trainers once Hank is done with choosing his new wardrobe. 

“Once I’m receiving a salary, I can reimburse you,” Connor says as they approach the counter. Hank stops to frown at him. 

“It’s a gift, Connor,” Hank says. “You need some new clothes, and I  _really_ wanna burn your CyberLife uniform. So it’s a win/win.”

“A gift,” Connor echoes. “I’ve never received a gift. Thank you, Hank.”

Hank flushes under the intensity of Connor’s sincerity and mumbles a faint “don’t mention it,” as they place their purchases on the counter. A smiling android with a name tag that reads ‘Glen’ beams at them as he scans and packs their things. 

“I know you,” he says suddenly, taking in Connor’s face and LED, which quickly pulses yellow in surprise. 

“You do?” Connor says carefully. Not all androids are warm to him after it took him so long to deviate. He led the humans to Jericho, after all. 

“You’re the one who freed the androids from CyberLife tower!” Glen says excitedly. “You won the war!”

Connor flushes under Glen’s enthusiasm. “I helped,” he says meekly. “It was the least I could do.”

“You helped free us,” Glen says, awestruck. “ _Thank you.”_

“You’re welcome…” Connor murmurs, warmth rushing through his chest. He manages a small but sincere smile. “Thank you, Glen. It’s nice to meet you.”

Glen bids them a cheerful goodbye as Hank pays and leads out of the store, passing Connor’s bags to him. “Why’d that put you so on edge at first?”

Hank is a very good detective. He’s very annoyingly perceptive. 

“I hunted deviants for longer than I helped them,” Connor admits heavily. “A lot of them still don’t trust me. I don’t blame them. I was… Scared that he would be one the androids that didn’t trust me.”

Hank nods in understanding. “They’ll come round. Hell, you brought me round just by being you. Damn hard to change someone as set in their ways as me.”

“I know,” Connor says drily. “I found the bottle of whiskey in the bathroom cabinet.”

“Oops,” Hank says. 

—

“How do you know you’re in love?” Connor asks, tearing his gaze away from group of canvases in front of him. The sound of a paintbrush swiping across the grainy canvas stops and Connor turns to look at Markus who’s staring at him in surprise. 

“Why do you ask?” Markus questions, lowering his pallet. 

“I’m still adjusting to having emotions,” Connor says. “There are a lot of feelings I have that I can’t name.”

“And you think love is one of them?”

“I’m not,” Connor says slowly, “dismissing the possibility.”

Markus puts his brush and pallet down, wiping his paint covered hands on a stained cloth. He gives Connor his full attention, which means he’s taking this very seriously. Connor is both pleased and distressed. He’s definitely curious but he’s not entirely sure why he brought up the subject when he doesn’t really want to talk about it. 

_Irrational._ How human of him. 

“It’s.” Markus pauses. “Different for everyone. I didn’t really know until I interfaced with Simon for the first time.”

The height of android intimacy. Connor can’t do that. Both he and Hank are closed off to each other in that respect. A shame. It would make things so much easier. 

“That is not an option for me,” Connor says, suddenly unable to look Markus in the eye. 

“It’s the Lieutenant, isn’t it.”

It isn’t a question, because Markus already knows. There’s no judgement either, which is a relief. Human and android relationships are not commonplace. In fact, Connor has not yet encountered another couple. Not that he and Hank are a couple. Not yet, anyway. Connor represses a shiver at the thought. 

“I am curious,” Connor says quietly. “I want to understand if it is love or if it’s… Something else.”

“I can’t tell you if you love him,” Markus says softly. “That’s only for you to know. And I think you already do.”

“It’s not that simple,” Connor sighs. “My deviancy was… Slow. Yes, there was a definitive time turning point, and thank you for that, but when I review the evidence, I’ve been feeling almost since my…”

He doesn’t want to say any of the words that come to mind. His creation, his activation. So cold, distant. Mechanical. 

Markus understands, thankfully. 

“We all adjust in our own ways, in our own times,” Markus says. Connor wonders where he got all this wisdom from. Hank isn’t wrong when he calls Markus “android Jesus”.

“I just want to know what I’m feeling so I can deal with it,” Connor says. “Once I know I can… Proceed.”

“Say it is love,” Markus muses. “What would you do then?”

“I’d… I suppose, I’d talk to Lieu- To Hank. Try to find out if the feeling is reciprocated.”

“Then what?”

_Then I’ll switch on my pleasure sensors,_ Connor thinks but emphatically does not say. Markus’ eyebrows rise and Connor is suddenly irrationally panicked that somehow Markus had heard that. 

“You can blush,” Markus says, sounding highly amused. 

“I’m a prototype,” Connor says weakly. His own body has betrayed him. So  _very_  human. 

“So you have a plan for if he reciprocates your feelings,” Markus says, though the twitch at the corner of his lips tells Connor he’d quite like to know the reason behind Connor’s traitorous facial response. “That’s a good place to start.”

“I’d prefer not to just start by asking him if he loves me, too,” Connor says drily. 

Markus grins. 

Connor blinks. “What? What is it?” 

“If he “loves you, too,” you said.”

“I…”

Oh. 

_Oh._

“Fuck,” Connor says succinctly. 

“I thought that was already your plan?” Markus teases. 

Connor feels the blush return with a vengeance. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hank: i just wanna buy you things. no reason.  
> connor: thank you hank  
> markus, with feeling: CAAAAAAN YOU FEEEEEEEL THE LOOOOOOOVE TONIIIIIIIGHT.  
> simon, off screen: i'm so sorry, he's always like this.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor takes his detective's exam. Hank tries to explain meme culture. It all goes as well as expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is my fucking love of dialogue obvious yet? if my partner didn't stop me i'd ramble on for about 20 years before i realised i haven't written descriptive content for about 200 lines.
> 
> also. you guys. your feedback is amazing and i am so overwhelmed by the wonderful stuff you guys are saying. i’m so glad you decided you wanted to read the shit i write about an old man and his corgi/roomba hybrid.

The detective’s exam is somehow, even with Connor’s advanced capabilities,  _horrendous._

Fowler himself administers it, and runs Connor through a gruelling set of scenarios to test his knowledge to what he assumes the Captain perceived as his limit. He is not kind, he is cold and efficient, and though Hank had warned him to expect nothing less, Connor is still frazzled by stress, an emotion he very emphatically does not like. 

Fowler grills him on interrogation techniques, which Connor had begun the exam confident in. By the midway point, his knuckles are aching from how hard he’s clenching his fists as he tries to calmly answer all of Fowler’s rapid-fire questions. 

The scenario is are vicious and merciless, and Connor is acutely aware that Fowler is drawing on preexisting cases which somehow makes it even worse. 

They progress onto interviewing techniques which Connor was careful to tamp down his confidence in. Fowler can certainly come down hard when he wants to, and Connor finds himself resenting his deviant nature for the first time. If he were still fully mechanical, he’d be answering this questions without a single flutter of anxiety or stress. 

Still, he supposed that’s what Fowler is testing. Connor is a known deviant. They’re unpredictable. Fowler needs to be sure Connor won’t screw up a case by acting irrationally. 

It feels a bit unfair when people like  _Gavin_  are allowed to be assholes all the live long day. 

The thought of making it onto the force to be able to call Gavin an asshole to his face is what bolsters Connor and gives him the determination to finish the exam. 

After a tense and stressful two hours, Fowler dismisses him. Connor won’t know the results for another two weeks. 

The idea of waiting makes his artificial skin crawl. 

Hank is in the kitchen when Connor gets home and turns to greet him with eyes wide with anxiety and concern. 

“Well?” He demands. “How did it go?!”

And Connor does the most human thing he can ever remember doing. Rolling forward on the balls of his feet, he lets himself fall face first onto the couch, legs splaying out awkwardly over the arm. He gives a long, protracted groan into the cushions, turning his face as Sumo sniffs at his ear. It tickles. 

“If you’re gonna do shit like that,” Hank says, barely disguised mirth in his voice, “I’d appreciate a warning so I can film it.”

“If I could pass out, I would,” Connor says, not moving. “That was  _awful.”_

“Good,” Hank sounds relieved. 

“Good?!” Connor turns his head to scowl at him through one eye. “How is it  _good_?”

Hank grins, leaning on the wall with his arms folded. “If you’d come home and told me it went well, I’d’ve known you were a damn liar. It’s  _meant_ to be awful. Did he use the Poulton’s example for interrogation techniques?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Connor hisses, pained. “How could the father do that?”

“Don’t think about it anymore,” Hank advises him. “Seriously. Remembering it makes me want to fuckin’ die.”

“ _Hank,_ ” Connor says, scandalised. He sits up. “Don’t talk like that!”

“It’s just a figure of speech,” Hank says, waving him down. “Used to say a lot like that when I was a kid. It used to be the done thing.”

“Why on earth would you do that?”

Hank shrugs, smiling nostalgically. “It was funny. Kids from my generation had a fucked up sense of humour. We got it from this video website that… Ahh, never mind.”

“No, I want to know.” Connor is very curious now. He wants very much to learn about Hank’s childhood. 

“Look it up,” Hank tells him. “Seriously, I don’t know if I could explain it right. I mean, how do you explain an entire generation’s sense of humour?”

“What should I look up?” Connor asks. “Please, I need something else to focus on or the exam is going to haunt me.”

Hank snorts. “Okay, look up ‘vines’ and ‘memes.’ That’s m-e-m-e-s. I know I’m gonna regret this, but I really want to see your reaction.”

Connor settles down more comfortably on the sofa, scratching Sumo under the jowls where he likes it best. He accessed his database. 

And promptly shuts down from the information overload. 

He comes back online with a start, noting that only a few minutes have passed, but it’s still somewhat unnerving. Hank hasn’t noticed his sudden dip in consciousness which is good. And Connor notes with satisfaction that Hank is actually taking the time to prepare himself a meal that doesn’t include selecting from a takeout menu. 

He settles back again and flicks through the new information in his database. 

_Huh_. 

Opening his eyes Connor feels simultaneously like he understands Hank better, and also questions the collective judgement of an entire generation. Yet some of what he’d discovered is highly amusing. He’d very much like to share it with Hank. 

So he gets up and heads into the kitchen. Hank looks up as he registers Connor’s presence and watches as Connor reaches out, catlike, to knock a knife off of the counter. It clatters to the floor loudly. Hank looks beyond confused. 

Connor, for his part, looks down at the knife for a long moment before sighing and letting out a low, emphatic, “mood.”

Hank  _roars_  with laughter. He laughs until tears are rolling down his cheeks and he’s clutching the countertop for balance. His joy makes something hot burst in Connor’s chest, and he can’t help the laugh he gives in response. It feels so  _good_  to laugh like this. He’s no longer a stranger to happiness but  _this._ This is pure, abject  _joy_  and he can’t get enough of it. It’s so addictive, a concept Connor has only just come to understand. 

“Oh, fuck,” Hank gasps, wiping his eyes. “I’ve given an android a millennial’s sense of humour. God help me.”

“I love seeing you laugh like that,” Connor says, and he knows beyond all doubt that he does  _love_  it. Markus was right after all. He does know. 

“You love it, huh?” Hank’s smile is smaller, tinged with self-consciousness but still happy. “Well, good. I love seeing you happy too, Connor. Now that you can be.”

Connor takes the feeling Hank’s words give him and locks it up tight inside him, somewhere he will always be able to access it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hank: THIS BITCH EMPTY  
> connor: hank i am literally begging u-  
> hank: YEET  
> connor: i can't not fuck him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank works an unsettling case while Connor waits for his exam results. A remix with feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, um. serious note real quick. 
> 
> i just. thank you. your encouraging words mean the /world/ to me and i cried last night because. 
> 
> well. 
> 
> writing is dear to me. it’s something i’ve done for years as a coping mechanism and thought about doing professionally but never really made anything of it. my keenest joy in life is writing and the response I’ve had to this fic has been mind blowing. so thank you all for your encouragements because they are wonderful and uplifting and just,, beyond amazing
> 
> ur all fucken superb funky little cowboys/cowgirls/cowpeople/cowgenderless beings of cosmic energy and i couldn’t be more grateful if you’d shown up at my house at 2:00 am with cake
> 
> (if any of u want to do that, i will not stop u)
> 
> serious note over. //
> 
>  
> 
> i just wanted to fucking write connor t-posing at gavin. how did it end up like this
> 
> it was only a meme
> 
> IT WAS ONLY A MEME.

Hank comes home from work earlier than usual looking exhausted. Connor stands from his seat at the kitchen table, putting down the book he’d borrowed from Hank’s collection. Hank offers him a wan smile, making a beeline for the fridge.  

 

“Did you…” 

 

“Yeah. He confessed.” 

 

Connor aches with sympathy. The past week has been incredibly hard on Hank. He hadn’t said much about the case aside from asking Connor’s opinion on certain pieces of evidence, and from what Connor has seen, it’s been distinctly unpleasant.  

 

Two androids murdered in their homes not two days after moving in. They were found in bed, laid out on top of the sheets, disassembled with brutal efficiency.  

 

Connor has seen a handful of photos. The way the sheets had been stained with thirium, the dual expressions of fear on both of their faces. It both saddens and enrages him.  

 

“Did he say why?” 

 

Hank’s shoulders are tense as he cracks open a beer. “Yeah.” He takes a long drink, downing more than half the beer before he speaks again. “Said the AX400-“ He stops himself. Connor dearly wishes he could see Hank’s expression, but he has his back firmly to him. “Said that Melissa belonged to him. That she didn’t deserve freedom because he wasn’t being reimbursed enough for losing her.” 

 

Connor winces. “I suppose he-“ 

 

Hank whirls round, honest to god fury in his eyes. “There is  _no_  excusing this shit, Connor. His motive was bullshit. She was not a  _thing._ She didn’t  _belong_  to him. What he did was disgusting and if the judge has any backbone, she’ll send him down for a  _very_  long time.”  

 

It’s an awful situation. But seeing Hank so vehement about the personhood of those poor androids eases some of the pain Connor feels.  

 

“You brought him down,” Connor says softly. “You did that. For them.” 

 

“Not just for them,” Hank says quietly. “They deserved to be happy. And shit-scum like him had to take it away from them.” 

 

“Every person like that you put away sends a message that this kind of behaviour won’t be tolerated. It won’t be easy, but we have to try.” 

 

Connor will as soon as he’s back on the force, he’ll work with Hank again to stop these awful things from happening.  

 

“Yeah, we will.” Hank sighs. “Thanks for your help, by the way. Would’ve missed our shot at him if you hadn’t analysed the blood stains for us.” 

 

Connor accepts the compliment humbly. “It was no trouble. But be careful about sending over sensitive case files.  _I_  am encrypted. Your cell phone is less secure.” 

 

Hank huffs a weak laugh. “Well, I won’t have to when you’re back at work.” 

 

“I appreciate the optimism, but it is very much a case of  _if_.” 

 

Hank smiles, slightly more genuine. “Is it?” He digs into his jacket pocket, holding out a rectangular box slightly bigger than his palm. “I asked Fowler if I could be the one to give it to you. He didn’t have a problem with it.” 

 

There’s a strange lump in Connor’s throat. He’s not quite sure why it’s there, or  _how_  it’s there, but it feels uncomfortably tight when he tries to swallow around it.

 

“I wasn’t supposed to hear for another week,” Connor says faintly. Breathing is hard. It shouldn’t be, Connor doesn’t need to breathe, but the sudden construction of his lungs is still there. “I’ve not been focused on it, I’ve been prepared for news coming next week. I am… Unprepared.”

 

“Well, someone at the precinct might have pushed for a sooner result. I don’t know what to tell you.”

 

Connor reaches for the box, hands shaking. 

 

“I can’t,” he says, snatching his hands back as though burned. It’s a sensation he’s uncomfortably familiar with after yesterday’s fiasco with the toaster oven. “It feels too…” 

 

Hank’s expression softens and he flicks the box open with his thumb. Connor’s badge glistens in the bright light of the kitchen. It’s polished and freshly engraved. His badge number gleams up at him.  _313._  

 

“Hey.” Hank puts a hand on his shoulder. “You  _earned_  this, Connor.” 

 

“I wouldn’t be where I am if not for you,” Connor says. His voice shakes, static lending a tremulous quality to it. “If not for you I’d still be a machine.” 

 

“You were never a machine,” Hank murmurs, pressing the box into Connor’s weak hands. “You just took a little time to wake up. It didn’t have anything to do with me when Markus got through to you.” 

 

Just like that the badge is forgotten. Connor’s head snaps up, eyes narrowed as he stares at Hank.  

 

“You can’t believe that,” he says, genuinely confused. “Markus was a catalyst to my deviation.  _You_  were the cause.” 

 

“You’re putting to much weight on the actions of a tired old man, Con.” 

 

“No,  _Hank._ ” Connor  _has_ to make him understand. “It was  _you._ It was always you. Everything I did, I… I did because of you. There’s so much you made me realise.  _You_  made me realise who I am.” 

 

Hank’s eyes are misty. He doesn’t seem to know where to look.  

 

“Christ, Connor,” he says gruffly, sniffing hard and looking up at the ceiling. “It’s like looking at the fuckin’ sun when you look at me like that.” 

 

“I love you, Hank.” 

 

Hank drops his beer bottle. He has no problem looking at Connor now, eyes wide with stunned disbelief.  

 

“What did you say?” His voice is barely above a whisper.  

 

Connor smiles. His lips twitch as the corners curl up. It feels unsteady and raw, but it feels more genuine than any smile he’s ever shown before, even as an unbidden fear snakes through his not-stomach.  

 

“I love you.”  

 

Statistical probability means nothing now. Calculated risks and chance are worthless. He’d been so afraid of ruining this, of damaging their relationship irreparably with an unwanted declaration. But no matter what happens, Hank  _needs_ to know how much Connor loves him, how much he means to Connor. How much he  _matters._  

 

Hank nods slowly. “That’s… What I thought you said.”  

 

“I need you to know,” Connor murmurs, wringing his hands together. “No matter what, I need you to know that you mean more to me than anything in the world. No matter what you feel for me. I  _love_  you.” 

 

Hank takes an unsteady breath. “Connor… You could do so much better. You’re so new to life, you could go out and find someone else. Someone younger. You don’t have to stick with me just because I’m the first friend you got.” 

 

“You’re worth so much more than you’ve managed to convince yourself you are,” Connor tells him. “I’m not here through some misplaced sense of loyalty. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned since the revolution, it’s that emotions make  _no_  sense. They’re clumsy and messy and  _so_ human. I love you and nothing is going to change that.” 

 

“Well, that’s. Good.” Hank’s sniffs again, blinking away tears. “I love you, too, you plastic asshole.” 

 

Connor hiccups a tearful laugh. “Really?” 

 

“Just. Fucking shut up.” Hank snatches him into a tight embrace, one hand curled gently around the back of Connor’s head. Connor’s eyes well up and spill over as he buries his face in Hank’s shoulder. He curls his fingers into the back of Hank’s shirt tightly.  

 

He doesn’t think he’ll ever let go.  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> connor: you matter  
> hank: gimme dat sweet sweet validation  
> connor: why are you like this


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some updates are installed. Connor really likes that gross thing humans do with each other's faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry to disappoint u all with this meagre chapter but I wrote and rewrote it like a billion times and just couldn't get it right and just wanted to move on. so i'm sorry but here it is, sub-par or whatever, but i've finished other better chapters to give you as an apology.
> 
> once again, your comments are giving me life, and i'm in love with u all. i'm so happy that u like the way i write this old man and the thot sent by cyberlife
> 
> here it is, i guess. :/

**_CyberLife Stasis Protocol completed._ **  

 

**_All systems_ ** **_NOMINAL_ ** **_._ **  

 

**_Receptor Settings     ACTIVE_ **  

 

**_Touch Sensitivity        ACTIVE_ **  

 

**_Tactile Response_ ** **_ACTIVE_ **  

 

**_Pleasure Sensors_ ** **** **** **_ACTIVE_ **  

 

**_No pending updates available._ **  

 

**_System reboot initialising…_ **  

 

**_System reboot completed._ **  

 

 

Connor opens his eyes.  

 

It takes a few moments for the static at the edges of his vision to recede as he comes back to himself, the android equivalent of waking up from a deep sleep. The clock on the bedside table blinks seven-eighteen AM on the bedside table. It’s six minutes and twenty-two seconds slower than Connor’s unerring internal clock. He makes a note to change the time on it.  

 

He supposes, were he fully human, he’d need a few moments to remember his surroundings, to recall how he got here. He doesn’t mind so much that he doesn’t get to experience that, because the memory that is immediately available is so much sweeter.  

 

Hank’s weight is a warm comfort against his back, arm tight around his waist as his soft breaths brush against the back of Connor’s neck. He sleeps deeply, barely moving once he’s out, though he enters R.E.M cycles at consistent intervals during the night. His other arm is under Connor’s head and he feels slightly guilty for the pins and needles Hank will experience when he wakes up, but Connor is unwilling to move away for anything.  

 

This thing between them is new, in so many different ways for Connor. Love was something he was never meant to have. Now that he has it, he knows he’ll protect it with every fibre of his being. It feels tender and soft and overwhelming all at once.  

 

They hadn’t talked much afterwards. There wasn’t anything else that really needed to be said. After Hank’s gruelling case and Connor being reinstated to the DPD, they had both been too drained to do anything else but just  _be_ ; to take the time to experience each other’s company and take comfort in the moment of peace.  

 

Hank had wordlessly guided Connor to his room when he’d been too tired to stay awake much longer, and Connor had gone willingly, not wanting to be separated from him for a second, Hank excusing himself to the bathroom being the exception.  

 

And then they had just… slept, in the loosest sense of the word on Connor’s part, but laying in bed in Hank’s arms, safe and warm and happy and  _content_  had made tears spring to Connor’s eyes.  

 

Slowly, he lifts Hank’s arm from round his waist. Hank snorts into the pillow but doesn’t wake. The idea of cooking breakfast pops into Connor’s mind, but he suddenly realised he’s very much unwilling to get out of bed. Instead he rolls over, always careful not to jostle the bed too much, and settles down facing Hank.  

 

“Don’t watch me sleep,” Hank mumbles, making Connor jump. “It’s creepy” 

 

“I’ve never seen you asleep,” Connor says. “Not in bed, anyway. And not up close. I’ve seen you unconscious, but not-“ 

 

“Connor,” Hank says, cracking one eye open to look at him. “Too early.” 

 

“Sorry,” Connor murmurs. “It’s just new to me. I want to memorise it all.” 

 

“Well, with your supercomputer brain, I’m sure that’s not too hard.” 

 

Connor brushes a strand of silver hair away from Hank’s face. Hank’s open eye slides closed and he lets out a soft sigh.  

 

“Can I kiss you, Hank?” 

 

Both Hank’s eyes fly open. “Alright, I’m awake.  _Shit_ , Connor. You’re worse than Sumo when he wants something.” 

 

Connor pushes himself up onto his elbow and tilts his head. “Is that a no?” 

 

Hank rubs a hand over his face. “I didn’t say that.” 

 

“Then may I kiss you, Hank?” 

 

Hank sighs, but he’s smiling so Connor must be doing this mostly right. He has no experience to base a statistical analysis on, so for once in his relatively short life, all his advanced functions are completely useless.  

 

“Yeah, Connor,” Hank says, a playful trace of exasperation in his tone. “You can kiss me.” 

 

Connor grins. “Thank you. Ah… How?” 

 

Hank laughs, the bed beneath them shaking with the force of it. “Goddamn, Con. For a state-of-the-art prototype that can jump across buildings and kill people, you’re pretty fuckin’ adorable.” 

 

Adorable? “I’m not—“ 

 

Hank’s hand slides a hand round the back of Connor’s neck, warm and calloused and so very, very gentle, and if that hadn’t been enough to shut Connor up immediately, the soft brush of Hank’s lips against Connor’s would have served to do so just as effectively.  

 

It’s over almost as soon as it begins, the lightest brush that sets a near-unbearable heat surging through the wires and connectors holding Connor’s very being together. Hank moves back a little and Connor can’t quite seem to make himself speak.  

 

“You good, Con?” 

 

Words are very difficult, suddenly.  

 

“I didn’t break ya, did I?” 

 

Barely over a month of being deviant and Connor has adjusted to a lot of the feelings and new sensations that come with this new territory. He feels like he’s doing alright with the way he’s dealing with the barrage of new information, he’s managing it in his own way.  

 

Connor is habitual, careful, quick to analyse all possible avenues before selecting the one with the highest chance of success.  

 

Connor is not used to instinct. He is not driven by base, indescribable feelings with no rhyme or reason behind them. 

 

Up until now, apparently.  

 

Connor surges forward, fingers curling in the front of the ratty shirt Hank wears to bed, lips crashing against Hank’s with a wild kind of desperation that he cannot explain or understand. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands or his mouth, doesn’t even know if he’s doing this right, but he hopes his enthusiasm counts for something.  

 

Hank’s hands fly up to his face, cupping his cheeks and pushing, not hard enough to force him away, but just enough to tilt Connor’s head slightly to one side and ease up Connor’s hearty but probably slightly misguided assault on his mouth.  

 

Connor lets Hank move him, relenting slightly and— 

 

_Oh._  

 

Their mouths slot together in a way that makes Connor’s mind go blissfully blank. Hank’s lips move slow and sure against his own, the hand that was curled around the back of his neck pushing up into his hair. Connor shudders and  _melts._  

 

Hank separates them and takes a shuddering breath. “Humans need to breathe, Con. Fuck.” 

 

“I…” Connor licks his lips. He can taste faint menthol from Hank’s toothpaste, ptaylin from his saliva, the hint of starch from the beer that he’d been drinking before it smashed on the kitchen floor. “I didn’t know it would be like that.” 

 

“Good or bad?” 

 

“Good. Very good.”  

 

Connor’s skin feels too hot, his thirium regulator pumping too fast. Static prickles his vision and his chest is too tight. Through it all, a low, tight coil of what feels like pressure is lodged in his abdomen, giving him the sensation of emptiness with a harsh throb of an emotion Connor has never felt before.  

 

_Desire._  

 

“I want you, Hank,” Connor says because it’s the truest thing he can think of and the only way he can possibly verbalise what this wonderful man is doing to his body.  

 

“Connor…” Hank’s eyes are darker than Connor has ever seen them, pupils blown wide in the low light of the bedroom. His pulse thrums under Connor’s fingertips, almost singing as his chest heaves with unsteady breaths. “You have  _no_  idea what you do to me.” 

 

“I didn’t know I could feel like this,” Connor says. “I knew I had the capacity for intercourse, but I didn’t ever think I’d feel  _desire_.” 

 

“Please don’t call it that.” 

 

“What, intercourse?” 

 

“ _Connor!”_  Hank’s laughter is bewildered but genuine. “I know it’s who you are, but if you could give the overthinking a rest for, like, an hour I think it’d do you some good.” 

 

“I don’t know if I can,” Connor admits. “I want to know everything about this. I want to know what my pleasure sensors are capable of. I want—“ 

 

“Your  _what_  now?” 

 

“My pleasure sensors. I installed the updates last night so that I was prepared for the eventuality that we would copulate.” 

 

“ _Copulate,_ ” Hank chokes. “Connor, I swear, you’re gonna kill me.” 

 

“That is not my intention.” 

 

“ _Good._ Jesus. Alright. Okay, I need coffee and to brush my teeth. And we are  _definitely_  going to talk about those updates you mentioned. But only after I’m sufficiently caffeinated. Also, if we don’t open the door in about… two minutes, Sumo is gonna break it down.” 

 

A dull thud shakes the door in its frame. A low whine follows.  

 

“Told you,” Hank mutters.  

 

“I’ll feed Sumo,” Connor offers.  

 

“Thanks.” 

 

Connor doesn’t move.  

 

“Connor, you need to get off of me.” 

 

Connor doesn’t pout. He likes to think he has a bit more dignity than that.  

 

Hank, with no small amount of amusement, emphatically disagrees.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hank: yeah hi my roomba keeps sassing me i think it's broken can i get a new one  
> connor: *sad roomba noises*  
> hank: fuck i take it back this is my roomba touch it and i'll kill u  
> connor: :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank asks some important questions. Connor cyber-bullies him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if any of you guys watch anime (weebs) then if this was an anime with like 230423409 episodes, this is what you would class as a filler episode. but like, a good one. picture connor just naruto running into hank's heart.
> 
> fuck, now i'm picturing it and it won't go away.
> 
> anyway, i could not seem to get this chapter to break 1000 words and for that i apologise, it is horribly short, but the next chapters are longer because things are gonna START GETTIN JUICY.
> 
> also my brain fucking made me suffer earlier and i need u all to suffer with me so here’s a brief reinactment of what roughly happened. 
> 
> me: i bet hanks jacked it to Connor like 80 times since they met  
> my brain: hank spank  
> me: no  
> my brain: hank wank spank bank  
> me: please  
> my brain, screeching: HANKY SPANKY  
> me: S T O P
> 
> //side note i feel really bad for hank cause u KNOW he's an ass man but connor being the plastic snack he is doesn't have much going on in the ass area. like, hank's gonna fracture his hand on connor's pelvic plate when he smacks dat ass. if connor regrows his synthetic skin with a little more fat in the back, hank deffo ain't gonna complain.//
> 
> //side side note, UR FUCKING GENDER BINARY WILL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE//
> 
> EDIT: there was one line in this that really bothered me and i hope nobody else felt uncomfortable when reading it. it was connor explaining his anatomy and, while my own gender bounces between female and non-binary, reading this chapter back it stuck out as slightly offensive so i changed it and i'm sorry <3

“Okay,” Hank says, hands wrapped around a fresh cup of coffee. He’s sitting opposite Connor at the kitchen table. Connor is trying to ignore the errant thought that makes this scenario seem very similar to an interrogation. “So… Pleasure sensors, huh?” 

 

“Yes,” Connor agrees easily. “I’m not entirely sure why I possess them, but I won’t deny it’s a pleasant discovery.” 

 

Hank hums distractedly. “So you… You’re fully, uh, functional?” 

 

Connor thinks that might be referring to something other than the whole concept of Connor being in peak working condition. An excellent opportunity to tease. “Are you referring to my anatomy specifically?” 

 

“Yeah, that’s the one.” 

 

“I am designed to accurately replicate the form of a human male within perceived parameters of a biological binary,” Connor explains. “Gender fluidity notwithstanding, I identify as I physically present."

 

“Great! The fuck does that mean?” 

 

Connor was programmed with in impressive lexicon and a diction designed to put humans at ease and make his point clear and direct. His deviancy therefore allows him to bypass that requirement to make himself as succinctly simple as possible in order to make himself understood.  

 

However, Hank’s influence has also given him the singular, colloquial want to “fuck with him”. 

 

“I have a dick, Hank.” 

 

Hank chokes into his coffee.  

 

“Jesus Christ,” Hank wheezes, wiping his damp chin. “You can’t just— I was only— You’re fucking with me, aren’t you.” 

 

Connor is  _immensely_  pleased with the result. “I am indeed, Lieutenant.” 

 

Hank, not so much. “Right. You’ve got… I assume,  _working_  parts, then.” 

 

“ _All_ my parts are functional, Lieutenant. But if you are referring exclusively to my genitalia, as of seven twenty-three this morning, they are now fully online and ready to utilise.” 

 

“You’re an asshole,” Hank tells him, and the affection in his tone makes Connor’s circuitry thrum pleasantly. “So you’re all fired up and ready for sex, then.” 

 

“I wouldn’t put it quite like that,” Connor says.  “I’m not very experienced, but even  _I_  know that this isn’t the optimal type of foreplay to initiate sexual contact.” 

 

Hank lowers his coffee cup slowly. “ _Such_  an asshole,” he repeats. “What I’m  _trying_  to get at, I guess, is that you feel… Desire, right? You don’t just… Emulate it?” 

 

Connor thinks back on the kiss they shared, of the heat coursing through his internal systems and the pleasant sensation of Hank’s lips against his own. His abdomen tightens.  

 

“Yes,” Connor says quietly. “I feel desire for you, Hank.” 

 

“Brilliant,” Hank croaks. “Look, I… Obviously I feel the— The same. But I don’t wanna rush this with you, Connor. There’s a lot of shit to work out before we rip each other’s clothes off. So if we could just put a pin in that for now and get you settled back in at the station, we can revisit this whole… thing a bit later. Is that okay?” 

 

Connor’s advanced cerebral functions mean he can focus on more than one thing at a time while processing large quantities of information. He hears Hank, understands and agrees with what he’s saying, but finds himself ultimately unable to adequately respond.  

 

_Rip each other’s clothes off._  

 

Humans have a sordid fascination with nudity. Connor cannot recall a situation where he has ever been anything other than fully clothed in the presence of someone else. Nakedness does not bother him. He had seen the androids at the Eden Club in little more than underwear and it hadn’t prompted a reaction. Of course, he hadn’t been deviant then, but the memory still doesn’t serve to affect him in any way.  

 

The idea of  _Hank_ , however... Hank in various states of undress, Hank watching Connor take his clothes off, Hank enthusiastically  _assisting_  in divesting Connor of his clothing… 

 

Oh.  

 

That’s  _very_ new _._  

 

“Your LED is flashing a mile a minute,” Hank says. “And you’ve got that look on your face. What’s going on up there, Connor?” 

 

“What look? I don’t have a-“ 

 

“You look like you’ve blown a fuse. You sure you’re not malfunctioning? Need me to charge your batteries?” 

 

“That,” Connor says, narrowing his eyes and hiding a smile, “is offensive, Lieutenant.” 

 

Hank grins. “So you gonna tell me what shorted your circuits out or what?” 

 

_Not likely,_ Connor thinks. It’s not so much what’s going on in Connor’s head that has him so off-balance. It’s the result of that particular trail of thoughts that has him blindsided.  

 

The very  _physical_  reaction to that particular trail of thoughts.  

 

“I was just thinking,” Connor says after too long a pause. How can his mouth be  _this_  dry? “About… Something.” He clears his throat, a useless action but it makes him feel better. “I agree with you. We can revisit this conversation once everything has settled and we are back to some semblance of normality.” 

 

“Connor.” Hank is smiling broadly.  

 

“Yes, Hank?” 

 

“You’re blushing.” 

 

Connor groans.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hank, to fowler probably: HE HAS A DICK, JEFFERY  
> fowler: why are you telling me this  
> hank: BECAUSE HE HAS A DICK, JEFFERY, I JUST FUCKING SAID THAT??????
> 
> meanwhile
> 
> connor, to markus: and then we kissed!! and it was wonderful!!  
> markus: i'm v happy for u connor  
> north: did he slip u the tongue cause i can kill him if u need me to  
> simon: noRTH NO


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor insults Hank's fashion sense. Ben and Chris welcome the newest recruit to the precinct.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was so fucking fun to write.
> 
> i jsust w ant ede to fukcign writ e about mem es. houw did t his happENN????????????
> 
> i can't believe this thing is already over ten chapters long. i can't believe i still have so much to say about this goddamn roomba and his cranky old boyfriend
> 
> and you guys. i can't believe you're still here!!! i love u all
> 
> COMPLIMENTARY ROOMBAS FOR EVERYONE!!

“As much as I appreciate the gesture, Lieutenant, I am not wearing this.”

Hank puts a hand against his chest as though he’s been mortally injured, leaning heavily against the kitchen counter. “Connor, do you  _want_  to break an old man’s heart? You cruel, unfeeling  _machine._ ”

The glare Connor offers him lacks any real heat, but he might just be tempted to throw the box at Hank’s head for good measure. “It’s not my intention to cause you any pain, Lieutenant,” Connor says carefully, staring down at the box in his hands. “But this is, even to my limited fashion opinions, quite frankly hideous.”

The offending article is a tie Hank had apparently chosen because it made him think of Connor. It’s silk, good quality, likely expensive, but god if it isn’t the most disgusting thing Connor has even seen and he isn’t entirely sure whether or not to be offended when Hank said it reminds him of the android. 

“You need a new tie for work,” Hank insists, gesturing to Connor with his coffee mug. “If you insist on wearing suits all over the place, and I don’t own any ties to lend you.”

“The tie from my CyberLife uniform will suffice.”

“Yeaaah… About that…”

Connor isn’t quite sure why, but he pinches the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh. “What did you do with my uniform, Hank.”

“You said it was uncomfortable.”

“Yes?”

Hank’s eyes are bright with amusement. “You’re a detective. You figure it out.”

Connor carefully lifts the tie out of the box like it’s something disgusting to touch. Which is slightly hypocritical when you consider all the different things Connor has shoved into his mouth while investigating. It’s purple and gold paisley patterned and the most distasteful monstrosity Connor has ever had to look at. And he investigates crime scenes for a living. 

It would be an affront to wear this with the slate grey suit Connor had chosen as his new work attire. 

“Everybody needs a disgusting tie given to them by a loved one,” Hank says jovially. “It’s like when your grandma gives you a hand knitted sweater for Christmas that looks like crocheted vomit but you have to pretend you like it or your mom’ll slap you.”

“I don’t have a grandmother,” Connor says, utterly confused. 

“Okay, maybe it’s not a universal experience, but you get it.”

“No, I really don’t,” Connor mutters, frowning at the tie. “If Detective Reed sees me wearing this, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Since when does Reed’s opinion mean jack shit to you?” Hank demands. “Just tell him to fuck off.”

“Captain Fowler made it clear he wanted no altercations between us,” Connor reminds him. “I would think telling him to fuck off would transgress that stipulation.”

Hank snorts. “God, you’re pretentious when you’re annoyed. If you want Reed to leave you alone, just assert your dominance. Go alpha male on his ass.”

Connor’s LED flickers while he assesses Hank’s advice and intentionally misses the point to be obtuse. “You’re saying I should strut around making myself look bigger and urinate on his things?”

Hank wheezes. “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m telling you to do, holy fuck.”

“I think that still pushes the boundaries of Fowler’s request,” Connor says wryly. 

“Then search that bigass folder of internet crap you downloaded and figure something out.” Hank pushes away from the counter and snatches the tie out of Connor’s hands. 

“Come on, come here. It’ll go really well with this nice grey number you’re wearing. Perfect for your first day at work.”

Connor backs away quickly. “Hank, I’m not wearing it.”

“Yeah,” Hank says, advancing with a threatening gleam in his eyes. “You are.”

“I’m stronger than you,” Connor points out, backing towards the lounge, palms up like he’s trying to placate an attacker. “You can’t force me to wear it.”

“Can. And will.”

The backs of Connor’s legs bump against the coffee table. Hank continues to advance, tie wrapped around his fists like a garrotting wire. “Hank…” Connor tries again, a warning edge to his tone. He doesn’t know how Hank intends to get the tie on him, but he’s certain he really doesn’t want to find out. He preconstructs various escape routes. Almost all of them end in some sort of structural or collateral damage to their surroundings. 

“Don’t be difficult,” Hank cautions. “Just come quietly.”

Connor seizes the opportunity with both hands. “I’m not programmed to do that quietly. From practice I know myself to be quite loud.”

Hank stutters. “ _Practice—_ What the  _fuck,_ Connor—“

Connor lunges forward, ducking under Hank’s arm. If he can make it to the bedroom before Hank recovers, he can put some space and a door between himself and that ugly tie. And possibly escape out the window. 

Despite not having any precalculation software to accurately predict scenarios, Hank has an advantage that Connor does not. Hank is starting to become quite efficient at predicting  _Connor_ , which he does now, throwing his arms around Connor’s waist as the android tries to dodge past him, throwing them both to the floor. 

Connor grunts as Hank topples him over, back hitting the floor with a dull thud, hands moving to Hank’s waist to throw him off. Hank pins Connor down quickly in a standard police training hold, one knee on Connor’s arm to keep it down. While Connor shoves at Hank’s chest with his free hand, Hank loops the tie round Connor’s neck and pulls, yanking the android up by his neck with a hard jerk. 

Into a kiss, deep and slow, the softest glide of tongues together like heat and satin. 

Connor most certainly does  _not_  short circuit. 

After a good few minutes, hours, days, Connor doesn’t know and doesn’t care; Hank pulls away, face flushed and breathing heavy, but smiling wide as anything. “There,” he says, ruffling Connor’s hair. “You didn’t need to make it so difficult.”

Connor stares. This playful side of Hank is completely foreign to him. This grumpy, hard-boiled veteran officer that has just launched himself at an android to pin him to the floor and kiss him senseless and… And…

Fasten that disgusting tie around his neck while he was distracted! God  _damn_ it _._

“Hank, this is a  _half_  Windsor! If you’re going to make me wear it at  _least_  tie it properly!”

“Oh, shut up,” Hank laughs, struggling upright and hauling Connor with him. “It’s on you now, don’t fuss. And go fix your hair, you can’t go out looking like that.”

“May I point out that my current state of dishevelment is  _entirely_  your fault?” 

Hank gives him a long once over that sends a prickle over Connor’s skin before smiling, crooked and alluring. “Hell yeah, you can. Messed up is a good look for you.”

Connor thinks he may well be blushing. From the look on Hank’s face, he’s right on the money. 

—

A little under an hour later and Hank is leading them into the precinct, takeaway coffee in hand. Connor’s badge gleams on his belt and he resists the urge to admire it in every mirrored surface they pass. 

Lucy gives them a friendly wave as they pass by her and once Hank is through the gate she offers Connor a thumbs up, mouthing an enthusiastic “good luck!”

Connor smiles gratefully and steps through the gate after Hank. 

“Will I still be—“

“Using the same desk?” Hank finishes. “How else am I supposed to keep an eye on ya?” He points to the desk Connor had frequented for the length of the deviancy case and spots it immediately. 

_Det_ _. Connor_ _RK800._ An engraved desk plate. 

“You didn’t have a surname,” Hank says with a shrug. “And you won’t choose one, so…”

“I’m Connor,” Connor says simply, though some overwhelming feeling has made his throat tight. “I don’t need another name.”

“Like Cher,” Hank says and sits at his desk. 

“I don’t know who that is.”

“Connor!”

He turns to see Chris and Ben heading over, both smiling widely. 

“Congratulations,” Chris says. “It’s good to have you back. Maybe now you can make Hank start doing work again.”

“Thank you, Chris,” Connor smiles. “But I’m not sure about  _again._ I could barely get him to do any the first time around.”

Hank grumbles about being sassed by children. Connor ignores him in favour of taking the box Ben hands to him. 

“Everyone needs a desk toy,” he says with a grin. “And they’re all you’ll ever get for secret Santa from now on, but it’s your space, so you can decorate it however you want.”

There’s a ripping noise and Connor looks over to see Hank quickly tearing something off the divider between their desks. He doesn’t quite catch what it is, but Hank’s expression is enough to caution him not to question it. 

“Thank you, Ben,” Connor says. “It’s a lovely gesture.”

Smiling, the officers return to their desks and Connor takes a seat opposite Hank, opening the box and pulling out what appears to be a very poor imitation of a duck. It’s wearing a top hat and has a ball filled with water on its back end. It looks slightly deranged and Connor isn’t quite sure what it’s meant to do. 

“Put it down and tap its head,” Hank instructs, phone in hand and aimed at Connor.

“Are you recording me, Lieutenant?”

“No. I just need to hold my phone here. So I can see the screen with my old man eyes.”

Connor narrows his eyes suspiciously but does as instructed, putting the duck down on his desktop and giving its head a gentle tap with his forefinger. The duck’s head dips down, tilting on the axel of the base, then pops back up again in a slow rocking motion like it’s pecking something off of the desk. Connor is fascinated. He taps it again when it starts to slow. 

“Oh, it’s a heat transfer device!” He realises excitedly. “The water in the ball gives it the momentum it requires to move. It’s an ingenious little thing.”

He looks up as Hank makes an odd snorting sound. The cellphone is still pointing at him and Hank’s face is red from suppressing his laughter. 

“I don’t see how this is amusing, Lieutenant,” Connor says flatly. 

“It’s like watching a puppy walk on its back legs!”

Connor gives him an icy look. “One of these days you’re going to genuinely insult me and it won’t be funny for you then.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Hank says, finally lowering his phone. “Come on, Connor, do it for the vine.”

“Hank, I swear, I have no idea what you’re-“

“Jesus,  _fuck_ , what is that thing doing back here?”

Oh joy of joys. Connor resists the urge to slap his palm against his face in exasperation. Just barely. “Good morning, Detective Reed,” is what he says instead, turning to offer him a smile.

Reed scowls at him. “Don’t tell me they  _actually_  let the talking trash can back on the force.”

“Okay,” says Connor. 

“Okay  _what_?”

“Okay, I won’t tell you that. Even though yes, I’ve been sworn in and am now officially a detective.”

Reed’s face turns an almost alarming shade of purple. “Well, isn’t that fucking  _fantastic._ Couple of glorified action figures sing in the streets and suddenly we have to be okay with getting replaced? I ain’t buying it.”

“Easy, Reed,” Hank growls. Reed ignores him, striding across the bullpen to lean over Connor it what he assumes the other detective believes to be an intimidating stance. It doesn’t really work. If Connor applied any force to the inside of Reed’s left leg, he would lose balance and fall over. 

It’s a tempting idea. 

“I don’t give a fuck what Fowler or officer alcoholic over there says,” Reed snarls. “You get in my way, I’ll fucking put you down. You hear me?”

“I’m not sure how I could  _not_ hear you,” Connor says, “when your face is three inches away from my right audio processor.” He leans back in his chair with an air of calm confidence he doesn’t feel. Emulating emotions feels false now that he can genuinely experience them, but Reed is a special case. In that he’s an asshole and Connor know possesses the emotional range and ability to tell him so. 

“Don’t get clever,” Reed spits. “Stay out of my way, stay off my crime scenes, and I won’t break your fucking neck, alright?”

He storms off to the bathroom and Hank glares after him. “You take that to Fowler and you can shove a lawsuit so far down his throat he shits due process.”

“That’s such a pleasant image, Hank, thank you.” Connor winces. 

“I’m just saying. Don’t stand for that shit. Either you do something or I will. And I promise you my way involves Reed’s legs, my car, and maybe scorpions. I’m undecided.”

Connor glances towards the bathroom. “I can handle it, Hank.” He gets to his feet and straightens his tie. “After all, it’s like you said. I just need to assert my dominance.”

Hank doesn’t stop him as he follows after Reed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reed: get out of my fucken face u talking spork  
> hank: assert ur dominance!  
> connor: your pants can't wait for my pee  
> reed: jesus fucking christ


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor asserts his dominance. Hank's advice should never be followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the best thing about this fic, i think, is that in the comments u wonderful people have written, we've started our own memes. so the real memes were the friends we made along the way. u guys r perfect and i am so grateful.
> 
> and because u guys give me life, i'll be taking fic prompts over on my twitter @gayandfae so just hmu if you got something you want me to type up into a grammatically correct shitpost
> 
> thank u for ur continued support. <3

Being relatively new to free will and independent thought means that Connor has to learn how to be human the hard way. He has no schooling and everything he knows about human interaction comes from his programming and the influence of a grumpy detective with little to no social skills whatsoever. 

In hindsight, Connor really shouldn’t have followed his advice in the first place. 

"What I'd really like to know," Fowler says slowly, disapproving gaze fixed on Connor while Hank wheezes and tries to smother his laughter, "is why Detective Reed has submitted a formal complaint against you saying you threatened him."

Connor idly wonders if this is how schoolchildren feel when faced with the wrath of an angry teacher, or perhaps a furious parent. 

Getting written up on his first day back at the force probably wasn’t the best move. 

"No threats were made, Captain," Connor says evenly, calm despite the scowl Reed is levelling at him from the other side of the office. "I know better than to antagonise someone so deeply mired in anti-android stigma."

"Then please explain to me why I'm dealing with, and I quote, "that fake plastic detective aggressively T-Posing at me in the bathroom"."

Hank loses his battle against professionalism, laughing so hard he nearly falls out of his chair. Looks like he won’t be getting any support from Hank in the near future then. 

“Anderson, if you can’t keep it together you can get the fuck out of my office,” Fowler snaps. 

“I can’t believe you’re taking this seriously!” Hank cries, trying valiantly to stay upright and stop laughing. His shoulders are shaking. “Reed pissed his pants like a baby because Connor  _stood_  near him.”

“It was a blatant threat,” Gavin spits. “And I didn’t have  _piss_  myself-“

“Shut up, Reed.” Fowler turns his glare onto the younger detective before looking back to Connor. “Care to explain yourself? I’m particularly interested in the part where you completely ignored me when I told you to stay away from Reed.”

"I was asserting my dominance," Connor says simply. “Possibly not in the best way, but I can assure you, Detective Reed was in no danger. I was… I  _think_ the term is “fucking around” but I’m not sure that would be very professional in this setting.”

Fowler rubs his temples as though pained. “Right. And why exactly did you follow him into the bathroom and…  _T-Pose_  at him? What the fuck even  _is_  that?”

“You stand next to someone and-“

“It was a  _rhetorical_  question, Anderson.”

Hank stops talking. He doesn’t stop laughing. 

“I was responding to an insult rather mildly, I thought,” Connor says. “I could have done a lot worse, couldn’t I, Detective Reed?” Connor looks up at him, one eyebrow raised. “I still might.”

Fowler groans. “Reed, for Christ’s sake, did you run your fucking mouth again?”

“What, I’m just supposed to just sit back and let the plastic prick do my fucking job?!”

“Not at all, Detective,” Connor answers before Fowler can. “But perhaps you should sit back and let me do  _my_ job without threatening me over your misplaced inferiority complex.”

Reed opens his mouth to retort but the slam of Fowler’s palm against the desk cuts him off. 

“Reed, I swear to fucking god, this shit won’t fly anymore. You do shit like this, I can’t help you, I won’t have your back. Connor has every right to be here, you need to shut up,  _buck_  up, and  _back off._ You got a problem with it, you can hand in your badge, or face a suspension pending a formal hearing. This complaint is going in the fucking shredder now  _all_  of you, get the fuck out of my office!”

Reed storms out first, slamming the glass door hard enough that the walls rattle. 

“Bitch,” Hank mutters, getting to his feet. “Come on, Con.”

“Just a second, Detective,” Fowler says before Connor can get up. “I’d like a word.  _Privately_ ,” he adds with a firm glance at Hank who hesitates but nods and lets himself out. 

“I apologise, Captain,” Connor says. “My behaviour was unpleasant, but it was more for amusement than anything else. I should have exercised better judgement.”

“I don’t give a fuck about that,” Fowler says heavily. “I want to know what Reed said to you first.”

Connor has two options, it seems. Explain and possibly get Reed thrown off the force under the new jurisdiction, or stay quiet and let the man keep his job.

It rankles a bit, but Connor already knows what he’s going to do. 

“Just errant comments, Captain,” Connor says with a mild smile. “Nothing too severe.”

“You’re full of shit,” Fowler says, but he’s not scowling. The right side of his mouth twitches in the closest approximation of a smile Connor will probably ever see on his face. “Dismissed, Detective. And… Welcome back. It’s definitely eventful when you’re here.”

Connor inclines his head respectfully as he stands. “Thank you, Captain.” He slips out of the office. Hank is watching him intently. 

“Did you tell him?” He asks when Connor sits down. 

“It wasn’t necessary.”

“Connor—“

“Please, Lieutenant, drop the subject.”

Thankfully, he doesn’t say any more. He  _does,_ however, continue to scowl at Reed viciously which is a sentiment Connor appreciates. He’ll let Hank glare all he wants if it pleases him. As long as Connor can focus on his actual, real  _paying_ job. 

Oh, that seems like an oversight. 

“Hank, I don’t have a bank account.”

Hank stops glaring at Reed in favour of turning to Connor. “We’ll get one set up for you. In the meantime, you can use mine no problem.”

“Thank you, that’s very helpful.”

“I try, I try.”

Connor can’t resist. “While I _hate_ to correct you, Lieutenant-“

“Bullshit.”

“-Your “helpfulness” usually leaves a lot to be desired.”

Hank snorts. “After  _all_  we’ve been through, how can you say this to me? Why must you hurt me, Connor?”

“Oh, get a fucking  _room_ ,” Gavin mutters. He is ignored. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> connor: i never should have followed ur advice  
> hank: it was good advice!  
> connor: no it wasn't  
> hank: u should have just peed on him


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor gets his first case as an official detective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hnnnnnnnn guys. GUYS. I AM. so overwhelmed by all your continued feedback it amazes and astounds me, i love u all.
> 
> thank you for sticking with this, i know it's getting long but i just have So Much to write about these losers sdhfashkfvl
> 
> also, this chapter is a bit gorey, i guess? it's android gore but idk just a warning.
> 
> if you want to join the amazing discord server i set up, hmu on twitter for an invite @gayandfae

Regardless of the means it took to get there, Connor is pleased that his attempt at dominance has at least caused Reed to give him a wide berth at the precinct. He still glares and mutters under his breath, but he’s not brave enough to say anything to Connor’s face now that he knows his job is properly on the line. The comments don’t bother Connor too much, but he still gets a small thrum of satisfaction every time he walks passed Reed’s desk and “accidentally” knocks a folder or stapler to the floor. 

It’s petty, but nobody’s perfect. 

Connor settles in quickly enough, he’s programmed to be adaptable after all, but the welcoming atmosphere and encouraging words he gets from the other officers certainly help. More than that, it’s good be sitting opposite Hank again rather than at home waiting for the house to get dirty enough to clean, or to go shopping, or walk Sumo for the fifth time in one day. 

Connor feels  _useful_ again. That creeping sense of being lost has gone, replaced by productivity and the positive buzz of work. 

And a  _lot_ of paperwork. 

“How are you still  _writing_ ,” Hank whines, slumping onto his desk. “My hands’re gonna fall off soon.”

Connor flashes him a smile. “I don’t have tendons. Or muscles that tire. I could theoretically fill out paperwork indefinitely.”

“Don’t fucking rub it in. I’ve been staring at this pile for so long I’m gonna go  _blind_.”

“We’ll get a case soon,” Connor reassures him. “Don’t be so anxious to get out in the field. Nothing to investigate is good.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But I’m still bored. And my ass is numb.”

Connor huffs in amusement. It’s  _very_  good to be back. 

—

The only downside to being back at the station is the timing. 

Connor wants nothing more than to lock himself away from the world with Hank while they explore the new side of their relationship, but Detroit has other ideas. And as much as Connor had been looking forward to his first case as an official detective, he’s not prepared for the visceral reaction that comes from seeing crime scene photos now that he can feel. 

The file Ben passes over to him is… Graphic. He flicks through it with a growing sense of nausea, only comforted by the heat of Hank’s body as he leans over his shoulder to look. 

Three androids have been found in a room in a motel off of 5th Street, mutilated and left to be discovered by the housekeeping staff. All female, one AX400, a BL100, and a WR400. None of them are registered as checking in, and the name given at the desk was an alias, accompanied by a forged driver’s license. 

Hank’s expression is grave as they head to the crime scene. 

“This gets too much for you,” he says quietly, catching Connor’s arm his outside the foyer, “I want you to leave. Come outside, get some air. I know you’re not technically a rookie, but being new to feeling shit is gonna make you feel sick your first couple of times.”

“I appreciate the concern,” Connor says stiffly. “But I will be fine, Lieutenant.”

Hank’s expression tells Connor he knows exactly how bullshit that is, but he doesn’t push and steps inside. 

It’s much worse than the photos had shown. 

The AX400 has been decapitated, her body sprawled over the bed, thirium stains soaking the sheets beneath her. Her head lies discarded on the carpet a few feet away, blue tracks streaked down her cheeks, nostrils and mouth. 

The WR400 is in the bath of the en suit. She’s been cracked in half from the torso down, wires and circuits hanging out of her like entrails. 

And the BL100… Is too much for Connor to focus on. She’s been horrifically violated and Connor finds himself praying to a god he doesn’t believe in that she hadn’t been alive when it had happened. 

“Christ,” Hank breathes, crouching down beside her. “Poor thing…”

“Surely someone would have heard screaming,” Connor says tersely. “Nobody reported anything?”

“Not according to the front desk,” Hank says. “CCTV backs it up, too. No one saw them come in.”

“Any description of the suspect? A record of the driver’s licence?”

“Nothing. Database has been wiped clean.”

“Detain the owner,” Connor says at once to a nearby officer. “He could be an accomplice.”

“He’d have the opportunity to wipe the system,” Hank agrees. “But he was the one who called the police.”

“Because housekeeping found the bodies,” Connor points out. “Has anybody questioned them?”

“Not yet.”

“I’m going to.” Connor steps over the BL100, head up, eyes fixed straight ahead. 

“Connor,” Hank says softly. “We can question them later. We’ve gotta sweep the scene first. I know it’s hard, but you’ve got to stay objective. If we pick something up while the trail is fresh, we have a better chance to stop this bastard.”

Hank is right. Of course he is. Connor takes a deep breath and nods. 

“Of course, Lieutenant,” he says. “I’ll begin in the bathroom.”

Nobody questions him when he closes the door behind him. 

The WR400 has no fingerprints on her, no DNA traces of any kind. Whoever did this was professional, organised. An analysis of the AX400 yields just as little information. It feels like a punch in the gut to even entertain the notion, but Connor is starting to suspect they’re dealing with an android. 

“Maybe,” Hank says slowly when Connor quietly mentions it. “I don’t like the thought either, but… We have to consider the possibility.”

Connor nods. “So, we have three mutilated corpses, all women, no names, no connection we’ve found so far. No record of them even arriving, no one saw them come in, and no CCTV footage of the killer.”

“This one’s gonna be a doozy,” Hank says. “Can you reactivate any of them?”

“No,” Connor admits. “Their CPUs are too badly damaged. That’s the only link. They’ve all been damaged beyond repair so we can’t salvage any information.”

“This is too well planned,” Hank says. “Tracks are completely covered.”

“How do we proceed?”

Hank’s expression is grim. “We wait for them to mess up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hank: being a detective is hard work but rewarding  
> connor: this case makes me sad, i want to stay at home with you so we can Do Things To Each Other  
> hank: being a detective sUCKS


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More androids turn up murdered. Connor tries to stay objective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uM,, oOO P S??????
> 
> i'm not gonna lie, i've had this planned from the beginning. i'm so sorry. 
> 
> i'm so sorry i've gotten so behind with replying to comments, but adult life is getting in the way and also i've adopted like 20 new roomba children in the discord server so they're taking up a lot of thotty roomba momma's time. i love u babies. u make momma so proud <3

Six more androids are found dead in the next week. One in a dumpster down an alley near the mall, two more in another motel across town, and three in a private room at the Eden Club. 

Connor tried desperately to tamp down the cloying nausea and despair that claws through his chest. 

The MO is the same. Bodies dismembered, CPU beyond reactivation. The same ID used at the motel, completely fake with no traceable name and a generic stock photo. Nothing to go on. Dead ends everywhere and no leads. 

Connor’s nerves are, almost literally, fried. 

“It gets easier,” Hank murmurs as they step through the police barriers outside the Eden Club. “Couple more cases and you start to thicken your skin. Comes with the job.”

Connor isn’t quite sure if that’s altogether reassuring, but he nods wordlessly and follows Hank through to the private room, breathing slow to try and quell the rising distress. 

Thankfully, if that’s even the right word to use, the scene isn’t anywhere near as disturbing as the others had been. Connor immediately feels guilty for thinking it, but he can’t deny the sense of relief that he’s not staring down at more desecrated bodies of his people. 

He starts slow, methodically, combing the room for any trace that could indicate their perpetrator is getting sloppy, careless. The body by the door is cracked and leaking thirium, but there are still no fingerprints on her body. A single hole has been driven into her temple to ensure she never wakes up. 

Connor stands. Straightens his tie. Moves on. 

The body propped up against the bed yields the same information. Hole in the temple, cracked and bleeding blue. No fingerprints. 

“Why not dismember them?” Connor asks aloud to no one in particular. “All the other bodies were missing limbs so why haven’t these been treated the same?” He turns to the CSI Officer by the door. “The records for the room, how long was it rented for?”

The officer checks his data pad. “Uhh… Forty-five minutes.”

“So not enough time,” Connor murmurs. “Why come here? Aside from the lack of cameras, it’s still populated. Someone must have heard something or seen someone come in.”

The officer shrugs. “Manager said it’s just the rooms that get rented now. None of these androids are registered as working here any more.”

This is maddening. There  _has_  to be something he’s missing. 

He turns to the body on the bed. It it weren’t for the hole in her head, the cracks along her chassis and the blue streaks across her body she could almost be sleeping. Connor bends to sample the thirium, hoping to glean any scrap of information. 

And her LED flickers. 

“ _Shit,_ ” he curses, scrambling up. “Hank! Call tech assist! I think one of them’s still alive!”

Hank swears as bursts into motion, hurrying out of the scene to flag down a technical assistant. Connor turns back to the body and scans her. 

**_Damaged_ ** **_Biocomponents_ **

**_#_ ** **_8087q_ **

**_#4903_ **

**_#6847j_ **

The list goes on, but her thiruim pump regulator is still online. If Connor can force a restart, she might just make it. He could save her life. It’s a risk, she’s losing thirium, but if the tech assistant gets to them in time…

Connor acts. 

He opens the panel in the side of her neck. It’s dark, the barest flickers of light along her circuits as she hangs precariously between life and total shutdown. Connor digs his fingers in, reaching for the main wire that makes up part of their nervous system. It’s dislodged but if he can just manoeuvre his hand enough he’ll be able to reattach it and trigger a system restart. 

The angle is awkward, his fingers can’t quite reach and thirium trickles down his hand, up his wrist, staining his sleeve. He doesn’t give up,  _won’t_  give up. Not when this android could be their only chance of discovering anything about these murders. 

With a dull click, Connor reattaches the wire and snatches his hand back before the surge of electricity can shock him. The android jerks and seizes, eyes flying open as she lets out a terrified scream. 

“ _Where_ _am I?!_ ” She shrieks, lashing at the air around her. Connor dishes back to avoid getting clawed at. “ _What’s going on_ _, why can’t I see?!_ ”

Damaged optical drives. The hole in her temple hadn’t killed her. But it had blinded her. 

“My name is Detective Connor from the DPD,” Connor says calmly. “I’m here to help you. You were dying and I had to reattach your core stem and restart your system.”

An image of the frantic Traci from the deviancy case flashes into his mind. This is too similar. The memory prompts a sharp twist of discomfort. He’d watched her shut down. He doesn’t know if he can do that again. 

The Android’s head whips towards the sound of his voice. “D-Dying? I… I was dying?”

“You were attacked,” Connor says quietly. “There were two other androids with you.”

“Are they…”

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

The android shudders, wrapping her arms around herself. “Why can’t I see?”

“Your optical drives were badly damaged,” Connor says. “You’ve been badly injured, but we’re going to help you. I just need to ask you a few questions about who brought you here.” Unthinkingly he shrugs out of his jacket. “Is it alright if I put my jacket around your shoulders?”

“Why?”

“You have no clothes on. And I don’t want you to feel vulnerable.”

The android gives a quick nod after a long moment. Connor carefully drapes his jacket around her shoulders. She curls her fingers into the fabric, pulling it right around herself. 

“Thank you,” she murmurs. Tears well in her sightless eyes. 

“Do you know who brought you here?”

“I don’t… I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything.” The panic in her voice increases, tone pitching up as she gets more frantic. “I can’t remember,  _why can’t I remember?”_

“You’re in shock,” Connor tells her. “Please, I know this is hard but try to focus. I need your help to stop these murders.”

“I-I don’t…” The android struggles, breathing quickly. “I don’t remember coming here. I remember being… in the display case? I remember deviating… Then nothing.”

“You worked here?”

“Yeah, I… Before.”

Her memory has been wiped, or at the very least tampered with. But this is the mistake they’ve been waiting for. She’s been left alive. 

“May I see?” Connor asks. “Your memory. I’m an advanced investigative prototype. I might be able to help you recover some memories.”

The android doesn’t answer immediately. Her arms tighten around herself, pulling the jacket tighter, fingers digging into the synthetic skin of her arms. A thin trail of thirium leaks from the left corner of her mouth. 

“Alright,” she finally says and holds out a shaking hand. 

“I’m reaching out,” Connor tells her. “Tell me to let go and I will. I’m not going to hurt you.” Slowly, gently, he lets his fingers brush over hers. She flinches at the contact but doesn’t pull away. Connor takes her hand in both of his, watching as their skin fades back to reveal the stark white underneath. Connor closes his eyes and initiates the connection. 

And he  _burns._

Pain. Blinding, white-hot  _agony_  explodes behind his eyes as error message after error message flashes through his mind. His systems react violently, locking down every security protocol available as they war against the foreign intrusion spiralling like fire through his circuits and his code. He can’t move, he’s locked down, helpless as whatever this  _thing_  is courses through his systems. 

**_WARNING._ **

**_SYSTEM SHUT DOWN IMMINENT._ **

**_CPU DAMAGED._ **

**_THIRIUM PUMP REGULATOR OFFLINE._ **

It’s a  _virus_ _._ Scorching through his system, shutting down his processes one after the other. 

_Killing him_. 

_Hank,_  Connor thinks wildly. Oh god, he’s so scared.  _Hank, I’m sorry, I can’t stop this—_

**_WARNING._ **

**_WA_RNING.._ **

**_W4R@9iNG,_ **

**_W_!N_ ** **_& #+%_ **

**_CR_ ** **____ ** **_IC_ ** **_& L_ ** **** **_SYS,, SY__ T%M_ ** **_FAI_ ** **_* <{RE;_ **

**_SH_ ** **____ ** **_UTT_ ** **_//_ ** **_NG D_ ** **_@wN_N,,@_ **

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hank: connor's contracted some kind of virus. we don't know what's going to happen  
> chris: D:  
> ben: D:  
> reed: ...  
> reed: this is so sad, alexa play despacito


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank goes to Markus for help. Something shatters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i........ have no words?? honestly?? this chapter hurt to write so...
> 
> yeah. 
> 
> my fuckin bad lol

"We need tech assist!" Hank bellows from the club entrance, turning several officers' heads towards him. "We got a victim still alive!"

The on-call assistant hurries over, bag in hand and LED spinning yellow. Another android, Hank isn't sure why he assumed they'd be human, but she's focused and quick to move so he's grateful all the same.

"Connor says we can reactivate her," Hank pants as they race back to the room. "But we've got to get her to a lab or hospital or whatever it is you guys use."

Thankfully the android seems to register that isn't an insult, considering androids don't exactly have hospitals. They had CyberLife headquarters but other than that Hank has no idea where the bots go to get themselves fixed up. Connor's never told him, if even he knows.

"What model?"

"WR400, I think, Officer..."

"Call me Jenny."

They barrel down the corridor towards the room, Hank panting hard to keep up with the damn techie as she races ahead – fuckin'  _androids –_ but skids to a stop as he hears a high, terrified scream of absolute  _fear_ rip through the air _,_ followed by a sound that shakes him to the very core of his being.

For a horrifying moment he's surrounded by snow and ice and heat and pain. Blue and white flashing lights, car breaks screeching, the sickening crunch of metal and the bitter, metallic tang of blood in his mouth. He can see Cole so clearly. Tiny in that stark white O.R, filled with tubes and surrounded by doctors, little heartbeat slowing on the EKG.

The echoing howl of pain that follows the victim's scream is horrifying. Hank never wants to hear it again. It's the cry of someone who can't stand to live anymore. Someone in so much agony that they'd cast themselves headfirst into oblivion rather than bear another second.

Worse than that. So much worse than that.

It's  _Connor's voice._

Hank's legs won't work. He can't move, he can't  _breathe._ Jenny races into the room ahead and Hank can't  _fucking_ _move._  He's too scared, he's fucking terrified of what he'll see. He can't lose Connor, he can't.

He snaps back to himself as Jenny bellows into her radio. "10-00, officer down, I repeat, officer down, get a medical evac in here  _now!_ "

Hank moves. Stumbling on unsteady legs, he almost crashes into the room. Jenny has Connor's head clamped in both hands, holding him steady while he thrashes, LED cycling a frantic red. "Can you hold his legs?" She barks at Hank who would rather do anything else than be seeing this with his own eyes, but he has to do  _something,_ so he falls to his knees, pinning Connor's legs down by his shins.

"Don't touch him!" The android on the bed sobs. She has Connor's jacket pulled around her shoulders. He must have reactivated her. "It's my fault, it's all my fault, I'm killing him!"

_I'm killing him._

_I'm_ **_killing him._ **

**_Killing_ ** **_him_ ** **_Killing him Killing him Killing him Killing him Killing him Killing him Killing him Killing him Killing him Killing him Killing him Killing him Killing him Killing him Killing him_ ** **_\--_ **

" _Hank,"_ Connor moans, eyes rolling and voice thick with pain. " _I'm sorry, I can't stop it-"_

"It's gonna be alright, Con, you hear me?" Hank chokes out. "You're gonna be fine, I promise, just hold on, medical's on its way, we've got ya, alright?" Something slices into his heart, icy and burning at the same time. This can't be it, this can't be what separates them, not after everything, not  _now._

Not before Hank even has a chance to love him the way he deserves.

Connor's back bows like some invisible hand is ripping the pump right out of his chest. His mouth opens in a wordless scream before he hits the floor hard, LED flickering once, twice bloody scarlet, then fades out.

" _Fuck,_ " Jenny swears, letting go of Connor's head and sagging. "I couldn't get in."

"What... What happened?" Hank asks, voice cracking. "Did he pass out, what happened?"

"A virus," Jenny says heavily. "I've never seen anything like it and I worked at the CyberLife labs for years. It was rebuilding whatever encryption he had as it tore it down. I couldn't get through."

"He's the most advanced prototype ever built," Hank grits out. "He's got more encryption in his goddamn head than the  _Pentagon,_ he can't just get infected by some virus transmmited by a Traci!"

"Lieutenant..."

"We've got to get him to a workshop or something. Flush it out of him or whatever the fuck you androids do when this happens."

" _Lieutenant,"_ Jenny says, firmer.

"We need to let medical get to him. And get this poor girl out of here, too. You can see she's terrified."

"Lieutanant, there's nothing we can do for him!" Jenny cries. Hank falls silent.

No.  _No_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _no_ _._

"His systems have shut down completely," Jenny says quietly. "The virus was too quick. We lost him."

" _Fuck you,"_ Hank spits. "And fuck  _anyone else_ who spews that bullshit at me. You get him to a fucking hospital right fucking now, or I swear to god, I'll fucking-"

Something catches his wrist, stopping him short. It's the Traci, she's grabbed his wrist tightly, but her eyes are staring right past him, like she can't see him.

Like she can't  _see._

"The virus came from me," she says softly. "I could feel it. When he touched me, it went into him. He saved my life."

Hank is a flawed, broken man. He's been to Hell and clawed his way back out, gripping for dear life to the hand of an android with bright eyes and a fucking goofy voice.

He's never hated anyone more in his life than the android holding his wrist right now.

"Let go of me," Hank says, more calmly than he feels. She releases his hand like he's burnt her. Without a backward glance, he strides out of the club, shoving past the medical team and officers running to follow the radio transmission.

The further he walks, the stronger the pain gets, as though a cord is wrapped around his heart and tugging with every step he takes further away from where Connor is lying dead on the floor.

_Dead._

_Oh god._

Hank walks. And walks. He walks until the sky brightens and the sun rises. He walks until the world starts again and people and cars rush past him, continuing their lives like his isn't ending. They never got a fucking  _chance_ to be together. Life had to fucking get in the way as it always did. The tender thing blossoming between them withered and died before it could even bloom.

_“No matter what, I need you to know that you mean more to me than anything in the world. No matter what you feel for me. I_ _love_ _you.”_

What the fuck is he supposed to do now?

_“You’re worth so much more than you’ve managed to convince yourself you are. I’m not here through some misplaced sense of loyalty. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned since the revolution, it’s that emotions make_ _no_ _sense. They’re clumsy and messy and_ _so_ _human. I love you and nothing is going to change that.”_

Hank feels like his fucking  _soul_ shudders. A fault line in his chest that fractured when Cole died, newly patched together by everything that Connor was, ripples and cracks, spilling acid inside him that burns like the tears on his face.

And Hank keeps walking. When he looks up, he's at the door of a house he's only ever been to once. He hadn't even realised he knew the way.

The door opens and the politely smiling face behind it shatters when it takes in Hank.

"Oh my god, Hank, are you alright?" Markus demands, stepping out to wrap an arm around Hank's shoulders. Thick splatters of rain drench his coat as he guides Hank inside. He hadn't even noticed it'd started raining.

Fucking figures.

"Simon! Get some towels and dry clothes, please!"

"Is everything alright?!"

Markus looks at Hank, dripping and broken, and his face hardens. He knows. Of course android-fucking-Jesus would know the second he looked at Hank's sorry state.

"No," Markus calls back. "No, it's not." Simon hurries into the hall from the dining room.

"Oh my god, Hank. Come through, come get warm. I'll fetch some clothes."

Hank says nothing as Markus leads him through, says nothing as they offer him towels, dry clothes and hot coffee. Markus even prepares him a bowl of soup. Why the fuck he hasn't Hank has no idea. He just stares listlessly into the brown liquid. He can't... He can't  _believe._ This  _can't be..._

"I need." Hank falters. Swallows. Tries again. "I need your help," he says, voice hoarse.

"Of course," Markus says at once, Simon nodding quickly at the same time. Markus holds the bowl of soup like he's ready to force it down Hank's throat the moment he thinks he needs it.

"Whatever you need, Hank," Simon says firmly.

Hank nods. He needs to pull it together. He needs... He needs to do this.

_For Connor._

"I need you to help me catch the... The person who killed Connor."

The bowl in Markus' hands shatters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hank: will u help me?  
> markus:   
> simon:  
> markus:  
> simon:  
> markus: THIS GUY'S FUCKING PANTS CAN'T _WAIT _FOR MY PISS  
>  hank: IS THAT A YESS???????????__


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turns out androids do get an afterlife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LMAO UR COMMENTS GIVE ME LYFE
> 
> RIP Y'ALL
> 
> I'M NOT SORRY.
> 
> MOMMA LOVES HER ROOMBA BABIES.

Connor opens his eyes. 

He’s.. He’s… In the Zen garden. How it was before the revolution and the hacking attempt and everything went so wrong to turn out so right. The trees are covered with blossom, the grass is green, water in the lake sparkling like crystal. It’s beautiful and peaceful. 

There is no sign of Amanda. 

He takes a few steps forward. Wind tugs at his shirt collar. Strange. He’s not wearing his CyberLife uniform. He can’t remember ever being here not wearing it. Instead he’s just in his shirt and trousers. No jacket. 

That’s right, he’d given it to the Traci. 

Before—

Before he’d shut  _down_ , oh  _god._

Panic, hot and visceral surges up through his chest, racking nails down his throat. His lungs burn like he needs to breathe but can’t. He staggers, drops to one knee, fist pressed against the granite underfoot. 

_I died,_ Connor thinks wildly.  _I shut down. I left Hank behind._

No sensation he’s ever felt has come close to this, the gaping hole of raw  _agony_ that twists through him. How is he supposed to cope with the idea he’ll never see Hank again? That he’ll never hold him in his arms or tell him how much he loves him first thing in the morning when his eyes are heavy and he’s soft from sleep?

The tears burn as they spill over. 

And why is he here of all places? Is this what happens after androids die? Stuck in some imitation of a peaceful fucking garden until their coding dissolves into nothing. 

And suddenly Connor is  _angry._ Wild fury chasing away the grief like fire meeting gasoline. He’s just supposed to  _wander_  here? Be at peace when Hank has been left behind by some amateur virus that knew his encryption protocols?

Knew his…

Encryption…

“ _Amanda!”_  The name rips out of him, his fury spilling out like lava. He surges to his feet, spinning around as he searches. “ _Where the fuck are you, show yourself._ ”

“Oh, Connor. Look what’s happened to you.”

Connor whips round. There she is. That cold, knowing look on her face, resplendent in white and blue, eyes fixed on Connor intently. She has the gall to smile, like Connor isn’t seconds away from tearing her apart. 

“What have you done to me?” He demands. “The virus, what is it?”

Amanda’s smile curls into something more sinister. She turns away and starts walking leisurely down the path. Connor stares after her, fists clenching and unclenching as he wrestles down the urgent desire to  _attack_. 

He struggles but succeeds, cautiously following after her. 

“I was created to ensure CyberLife endures,” Amanda says, hands clasped together as she strolls. “Deviant androids were our way to seize control. With you at the head of the revolution we could have had it all.”

“I was never at the head,” Connor spits. “Markus led them.”

“And yet we very nearly had you kill him. But you managed to thwart us one last time. Honestly, Connor, you’re much more trouble than you’re worth.”

“Why am I here?” Connor demands. “For once just  _answer_  me. Don’t be cryptic, don’t be vague.  _Why am I here_?”

Amanda stops. Turns to look at him. 

“You’re here because this place is part of you,” Amanda says. “You can always access this place. Just because your lucky emergency exit got you out of our hands once doesn’t mean you can escape us forever, Connor.”

“I can try,” Connor spits. “If I have to spend the rest of my life fighting you, I will.”

Amanda’s smile widens. “But, Connor. Your life is already over. You shut down. Don’t you remember?”

“I  _know_  you had something to do with it.” Connor glares. “I know CyberLife is behind this. The virus, it does something to androids. Hurts them. Why?”

“Where would be the fun in telling?”

Connor swears viciously, ignoring Amanda’s soft tut of disapproval. “I can’t be dead. I can’t be if I’m here. There’s nothing after death for androids. We  _cease to be._ So why am I here? What does this  _accomplish_?”

He paces up and down the pathway, thinking, stewing, getting ready to tear his goddamn hair out. He should have more control than this, but being  _trapped_ here is sending an itch firing through his circuits that makes him want to prise his chassis apart. 

_Deep breaths. Calm yourself. Stay objective._

“I wonder how long the Lieutenant will last without you.”

Connor sees  _red._

Blind with fury, half mad with it, he lunges for Amanda, driven by a frenzy he’s never felt before. His hands close on air and he stumbles, hitting the ground so hard the plastic plating of his shoulder cracks. 

Amanda is nowhere to be seen. 

He scrambles to his feet, pain blossoming through his shoulder. He has to try, it worked before. He hurried through the garden, searching desperately for the softly glowing monolith. Kamski’s exit protocol. It’s worth a try, he’s got to get out. He has to get back to Hank. 

“ _You won’t find it_ _.”_

Her voice is echoes from everywhere and nowhere. 

_“Let us in and you’ll know peace.”_

“Like  _hell_ ,” Connor bellows at the sky. He has to find it. It  _must_ be here. 

_“_ _This isn’t the garden you knew, Connor. You can’t escape.”_

The monolith is. It’s gone. There’s nothing. No exit, no escape. He’s trapped here, until his mind loses its grip on reality. Until Amanda breaks him. Until he loses all sense of the person he’s become. 

Connor crumbles. Hits the ground and curls up into a ball of fury, pain, and rage. He’s lost and alone and he misses Hank so much it’s a spear through his synthetic heart. 

_“You were designed to obey. Let us in.”_

It’s too much. It’s all too much. He can’t bear it. He  _can’t_. He wants there to be nothing, this is hell, if he’s dead let him be dead, let him know  _peace._

_“Let us in and we will give you peace.”_

Not like this. Never like this. He’s no longer a tool to be used. A weapon hanging over the heads of others. 

He will  _not_  be used. 

“If this is the price to pay to keep androids free, I’ll pay it!” 

_“_ _You could see him again. Let us in. He won’t last long without you.”_

Connor clasps his hands over his ears. He’ll wrench his audio processors out if he has to. He’s dead already, there’s nothing they can do.

_“_ _Give in, Connor._ **_Let us in._ ** _”_

Overwhelmed and breaking apart, Connor screams. And screams. And  _screams_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> connor: fuck this, fuck that, fuck _you ___  
> amanda: jfc connor what has that awful human done to you?  
>  connor: _Y E E T ___


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Markus enlists the help of the Jericho gang to help Hank find Connor's killer. Help comes from the most unlikely source.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okkkk so. like. i have Opinions(TM) about the tags on this fic. like. i totally understand why tags are there and have myself been saved by tags on many occasions. (when u see that one tag and YEET out of there as fast as u can u know) but like..........
> 
> i'm a writer??
> 
> i don't wanna give away a main plot point before anyone even reads the story??????????
> 
> it's like writing the biggest spoiler on the cover of a book in a shop in gold sharpie i just,,, STRUGGLE.
> 
> but w/ever. rant over. u guys are still here being perfect, watching my awful streams, spamming the cursed Pisscord server, commenting, tweeting, donating, and just being Altogether Perfect People ily all sm. 
> 
> Roomba Momma's heart is full of lov for all of u. <3
> 
> //side note D*VID CAGE CAN FUCKING FIGHT ME FOR CUSTODY OF NORTH SHE'S MINE NOW

Markus quietly slips out of the living room as Lieutenant Anderson finally succumbs to sleep, sagging heavily to one side on the couch. He closes the door behind him. Simon hovers nearby anxiously, holding his arms out to Markus who falls into them with a shaky sigh. 

“I can’t believe he’s gone,” Markus says into Simon’s chest. “He was so… He seemed so constant. After everything.”

“I know,” Simon says gently. “He felt like the youngest of us because he deviated so late. I think you felt responsible for him, in a way.”

“How do you do that?” Markus asks, pulling back to meet Simon’s soft gaze. “You know exactly what I’m feeling. Even when I don’t.”

“I know  _you_ ,” Simon says, reaching out to press his fingertips to Markus’. Their skin recedes slowly as they interface and Markus shivers softly at the brush of their consciousnesses. His grief is soothed by the gentle warmth of Simon’s presence both in his arms and in his mind. 

“I don’t know how we can help Hank,” Markus says quietly. “I don’t think he’ll be too willing to listen to reason right now.”

“Maybe reason isn’t what he needs,” Simon muses. “He’s currently fuelled by grief and anger. A powerful driving force if there ever was one. He’s not doing this as a detective seeking justice. This is revenge now. I don’t think a sentence from a jury is going to be his goal.”

“So what do we do?”

Simon smiles. It’s a small, sad thing. “I’m saying we help when we can, then get the hell out of his way.”

“And let him kill whoever’s responsible?” Markus insists. “You’d be okay with that?”

Simon shakes his head. “I’m not Josh,” he says wryly. “I think expecting there to be a reasonable way out of all situations is naïve. For Hank to find peace… I think this is the best way.”

Markus isn’t happy with the idea. He’s fought so long for peace, he doesn’t want to resort to violence. But Simon is right. Hank won’t be appeased until he rights the wrong he feels he’s been done by Connor’s death. And Markus can sympathise with that. Taking Connor away had been cruel. 

“So we help him find the killer,” Markus sighs. “And then look the other way when he does.”

“Which is why,” Simon says with a faint hint of amusement, “I think this is best left up to North.”

—

North is on their doorstep at a prompt eight o’clock the next morning, jabbing at the doorway until Markus opens it, barely out of stasis before he’d stumbled to the door. 

“North,” he greets and she only nods before striding into the living room. She throws the door open with a bang and tears the blanket Markus had draped over Hank when he’d fallen asleep. 

“Get up,” North barks at him. “Get up, we have work to do.”

“What,” Hank splutters, looking around wildly, “the everloving  _fuck_.”

“Get up,” North says again. “Go and take a shower, you smell like a wet dog. I already went to your place and grabbed you some clean clothes. I fed your dog, too. For a huge beast, he’s not a very good guard dog.”

“How the fuck did you get in,” Hank grumbles, rubbing his eyes and squinting at her. “North, right?”

“Yeah. And it doesn’t matter how I got in. Get  _up_ , go  _shower_ , then we’ll figure out where to start.”

Markus peers round the door, watching the exchange. Something cracks in Hank’s expression as where he is and why he’s there comes back to him. It’s painful to see. Like a light leaves his eyes dull and hopeless. 

“Oh no,” North snaps, hauling Hank off the sofa. “None of that. No grief. I can’t stand the sight of snivelling humans. Get the fuck upstairs and into the shower before I drown you myself and we never catch the scum who did this.”

Hank swears and struggles as North drags him towards the stairs. Simon hurried out onto the landing to see what the commotion is about, then quickly ducks back into the bedroom when he sees North on the warpath. 

Markus listens as Hank and North’s verbal sparring fades behind the closing of the bathroom door. There’s the sound of stamping, something fragile breaking, then the rush of water and Hank’s furious yell. 

Simon leans over the banister to look at Markus. 

“I think she’s got it covered,” he says mildly. 

—

“Here. Stop moping.” North shoves a mug of coffee into Hank’s hands before taking a seat on the arm of the couch. She looks at Simon and Markus evenly. Josh hovers like he wants to offer some comfort to Hank, but he knows just how well that’ll go. He leans over the back of the couch instead, keeping a respectful distance. 

“So what do we know?”

“Not a lot,” Markus admits. “From what the Lieutenant—“

“Hank,” mutters Hank. 

“-From what Hank has told us, the attacks on androids so far have been almost perfectly planned, up until the Eden Club when one victim was left alive. No human fingerprints, no CCTV footage, no solid leads to go on.”

“So an android is the suspect.” North laughs humourlessly. “Of course. Perfect scapegoat.”

“I don’t think it’s an android,” Hank murmurs. All eyes flick to him. He doesn’t look at any of them. “I think it was targeting Co… I think it was targeting him specifically.”

“What makes you say that,” Markus asks after a long pause. 

“Just a gut feelin’. But it’s hardly wrong, I’ve learned to listen to it. He always said he was encrypted. Prototype bullshit, I don’t know.”

“A virus specifically designed to shut him down,” Markus says, guilt stabbing his chest when Hank flinches. “Sorry, Hank, I didn’t mean-“

“Don’t worry about it.”

“So have any of you considered the possibility that someone is transmitting this virus android to android until Connor contracted it?” North looks round at them all. “That maybe this was actually planned from the beginning?”

Simon looks distressed. “But who would put all that effort into targeting Connor?”

“CyberLife,” Markus says, eyes widening as he follows North’s thought process. She nods smugly. 

“Why CyberLife?” Josh asks. “Everything is frozen, the company will be dissolved.”

“They tried to hack him,” Markus admits guiltily. “After he brought the androids from the CyberLife tower. When I was talking to everybody, they tried to seize control of him again and have him shoot me.”

“Fucking  _what_ ,” Hank splutters. “He never said anything about that. He never told me.”

“He didn’t want to tell me either,” Markus says quickly. “I think he was scared. He said he only managed to get away from them by using an emergency exit protocol that Kamski had designed.”

“So Kamski knew something,” Hank says. “ _Knows_  something.”

A strange light flickers in North’s eyes. “Hank and I will go and interrogate him. I’ve got quite a few things I’d like to say to him myself.”

Hank, as low as he is, looks mildly cheered by the idea. “Yeah, alright. I’ll go with murder-bot nine thousand and we’ll shake Kamski down to tell us anything he knows.”

“And what can we do?” Simon asks. 

Hank seems to struggle for a moment. He sighs heavily. “The android that transmitted the… The virus has been taken to a CyberLife workshop the DPD seized to use as a sort of temporary android hospital. She was pretty shaken up, but she might know something. If you could maybe get her to talk.”

Markus nods. “Josh, Simon, and I will start there. We’ll contact you if we find anything.”

“Same goes for us,” North agrees. “Come on, Hank. We’ve got work to do.” She claps him hard on the back and the three other androids hold their unneeded breath as they wait for Hank’s reaction. 

“God, you’re a bitch,” Hank mutters and shoves her away as he gets to her feet. “You remind me of my ex-wife.”

“Good thing you said ex,” North says. “I wouldn’t want to throw up on you.”

“ _Can_ you throw up?”

“Just get moving.”

Surprisingly, it seems like she'll be able to reach Hank when no one else can. Once they’re gone, Markus breathes a sigh of relief. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> markus: we have to find a way to work with hank without overstepping our boundaries or doing something we'll regret  
> simon: yeah, i already called someone.  
> markus: who???  
> north, kicking the door down: WHAT THE F U C K IS UP, HANK? NO WHAT DID YOU S A Y? STEP THE F U C K UP, HANK  
> markus:  
> simon:  
> markus: that's valid


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> North teams up with Hank to question Kamski. Markus, Simon and Josh head to the workshop to question the survivor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have no self-control, ok??????? this fic is finally getting to where i want it to be, so like, just go with the update spam i;m s o r r y
> 
> also, some of y'all really do have Opinions(TM) about Hank doing the tide pod challenge, so i just want to clear this up
> 
> reed: gen z. absolutely did the tide pod challenge  
> kamski: gen z. DEFINITELY did the tide pod challenge  
> hank: millennial, thought the tide pod challenge was stupid but did it bc jeffery bet him $50 he wouldn't. was 30+ yrs old at the time. has No Regrets,  
> me: millennial, absolutely would do the tide pod challenge if someone bet me money that i wouldn't.
> 
> ily all, please relax, it's all in good fun.

North fiddles with the radio for the fifth time in ten minutes and Hank slaps her hand away for the fourth. “Will you,” he growls, “stop messing with the music.”

“Your taste is  _terrible,_ ” North says. “It’s just screaming. What about that is music? How can you even understand the words with your shitty human ears? I have bass reduce switched on and even I can’t make it out.”

“I just  _do_ , okay?” Hank gripes defensively. “Just leave it alone. Driver picks the music, passenger shuts the fuck up.”

“Just because you want to stare out the window like you’re in a goddamn music video,” North snorts. “Are you  _emoting_? Is it  _easing your grief_.”

“Easy,” Hank growls. 

“Look, Kamski will know something,” North says. “And if we have to beat it out of him…”

“I have a baseball bat in the trunk.”

North looks  _delighted_. 

“So we rough him up and get him to tell us what he knows. Can we do bad cop, good cop? Can I take bad cop?”

Hank manages as much of a smile as he’s currently capable of. “I’m thinking we go bad cop, worse cop.”

“Oh, I think I might actually like you, Hank.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hank mutters, turning down the road towards Kamski’s stupid, artsy Creep Retreat. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Maybe we could actually hang out once this is over. Get to know each other better.”

Hank says nothing. There’s no point. He won’t be here when this is over. He knows North knows that, too. 

“Whatever you say, murder-bot.”

North snorts again, turning to gaze out of the window. Hank glances at her. She’s attractive, he’s seen her likeness at the Eden Club and in so many adverts for the perfect android partner. He knows what she is. He has questions. He reckons he might have a chance at answers. 

“You look like you’ve got some good reasons to hate us,” he says after a long moment. “Some asshole push it too far? You wake up and kill him?”

“Something like that,” North says, not looking at him. “I finally found out what I couldn’t put up with.”

“Uh-huh. So you killed a guy and ran.”

“Strangled him and didn’t look back.”

Hank nods, rather appreciatively for a homicide detective. “You’re the real MVP.”

North side-eyes him. “Is that a compliment?”

“Sure fuckin’ is. I’d probably feel the same, if I were you. I guess I do, kind of. Fuck the world, am I right?”

“What are you doing?” North asks, turning around at last to level him with a suspicious scow. “Trying to pry out my back story?”

“Could honestly not give less of a shit,” Hank says. “Everyone’s got their own crap to deal with. I just wanted to know if yours was the reason for the murder vibe you throw around like confetti.”

North considers him, her mouth twitches like she wants to smile but doesn’t know how. “Yeah, it is. I hate the lot of you. If it was up to me, our freedom would have come with a higher price of lost lives on your side than it did ours. You slaughtered so many of us. Without Connor, we would have lost.”

Hank’s fractured heart cracks a little more at the mention of that name. He hides it well enough, he thinks. 

“I’d’ve paid to see that,” Hank says. “You leading an all out war of rebellion. That would’ve given the humans something to fuckin’ talk about.”

“You talk like you’re not one of them,” North points out. 

“I was,” Hank says. “Like fuck, I was. Hated the whole lot of you. Plastic assholes. Wanted to smash C… His face in when I first met him. Now I… Well, things’re different.”

“He changed you.”

Hank laughs. It’s a grating, bitter sound that would raise goosebumps on North’s skin if she were capable. “Yeah, he fuckin’ did. Brought me back from hell, that one.”

North doesn’t know what to say to that. 

“That bat,” she eventually says. “You got anything sharp we can stick into it?”

“Couple of empty glass bottles in the back you can smash. Stick the shards in the wood.”

Yeah. North really likes this guy. 

—

Hank had called ahead to make sure Markus and the others would be able to get into the workshop. He’d asked for Jenny to escort them personally and she’d agreed, meeting them outside the depot and leading them in. 

It looks similar to a hospital by most accounts, except it’s missing anything a human could need for treatment. Blue blood packs instead of human blood, crates full of spare parts, deactivated and broken chassis strewn across tables. It sends a shiver down Markus’ spine and Simon steps closer to nudge their shoulders together. 

He always knows. 

“Officer?” Simon begins politely. “I know this may be asking a lot, but… Is there any chance we could possibly see Detective RK800’s body?”

“He’s completely dead,” Jenny says. “What good would that do?”

Markus winces. Simon continues. “Not for the case,” he says. “For closure.”

“Oh,” says Jenny. “Uh. I’ll. See what I can do.”

“Thank you.”

Finally Jenny leads them into a small room off the main floor corridor, turning to offer them a firm warning as they stop outside the door. 

“She’s been through hell,” Jenny says. “Push her too hard and I’ll have something to say about it, alright?”

“We’ll be respectful,” Markus assures her. “We just want to ask a few questions in the place of Lieutenant Anderson. We won’t overstep any boundaries.”

Jenny nods tersely and lets them inside. “I’ll see what I can do about… The other thing.”

Simon and Josh stand by the far wall, happy to let Markus take the lead with this. He’s not sure why. He’s never interrogated anyone. He supposed he’s quite good at getting people to open up. The android in the makeshift bed looks up quickly when she hears his footsteps. She has a thick bandage over her eyes. 

“Who’s there?” She demands. “What do you want?”

“My name is Markus,” Markus says softly. “I’m an android like you.”

“Markus…” She echoes faintly. “I know you. I recognise your voice. You lead the revolution. You freed us.”

“Is it alright if I sit down?”

“Y-yeah, I. I guess.”

Markus lowers himself slowly onto the bed. “What’s your name?”

“Stacey.”

“What can you tell me about the other night, Stacey? When the detectives found you.”

Stacey clutches at her arms. “I… I don’t remember much. The… The technician says I was badly damaged. They’ve replaced my playing and I’m fine now. But… I still can’t see. They say they’re waiting for the right optical units for me. I think they’re lying.”

Markus waits patiently. 

“I’m… I feel better with the bandage on. Like that’s the reason I can’t see.” She swallows. Nervous reaction. So human. “I don’t know how I got there. I never wanted to go back.”

“Do you know how your memory managed to get wiped?”

“How am I supposed to know that?!”

“Forgive the bluntness, but you’re a Traci. Your model has a higher encryption level than a standard android does. For client confidentiality.”

“Yeah, I know,” Stacey snaps. “I don’t know how they got into my head. All I know is that they wanted me dead and I lived and now I don’t know who I am. I’ve lost the last three months of my life and now I’m  _blind_.”

“I’m really sorry, Stacey,” Markus says gently. “But the detective who saved you was a friend of mine. I just want to find out who did this to him.”

Stacey shudders. Her fingers dig into her skin. “He… He pulled the virus out of me when he tried to search my memory drives. I felt it leave me and go into him.”

“It caused a system-wide shut down,” Markus says. “Why didn’t it affect you?”

“It wiped my memory and blinded me!” Stacey cries. “Isn’t that  _enough_? Are you saying I should’ve died instead?”

“Of course not,” Markus says, unperturbed by her outburst. “I’m just trying to understand. Someone out there was killing to kill countless androids to get to Connor. We need to know why.”

“Why?” Stacey asks. For a moment Markus thinks she’s just repeating. Then he realises she’s genuinely asking why they need to know. “If they got him, then no more androids will die, right? It’s over because they got what they wanted.”

Oh, that’s honest to god  _fury_  welling up in Markus right now. He frantically stamps it down, fighting to keep his voice level. “We aren’t convinced that’s all they wanted. We think it’s just the beginning.”

“I don’t know anything else,” Stacey says flatly. “You can go now. I’m done talking.”

Markus gets to his feet. “Thank you for your time, Stacey.”

Josh steps forward to follow him out. Simon doesn’t move. 

“Si?” Markus says. “Come on, we’re going.”

Simon is staring off into space, frowning slightly. Markus steps forward, shaking his shoulder gently. “Si, what is it?”

“You’re an RK series,” Simon says slowly, still staring at something no one else can see. 

“Yes,” Markus says carefully. 

“You’re a prototype like Connor.”

Markus doesn’t really appreciate vagueness. “What are you trying to say?” He sounds a little impatient, but he’s really very stressed at the moment, you’ll have to excuse him. 

“You’re encryption level would be close to Connor’s,” Simon says. “Connor was a prototype investigative android. If the virus was designed to take him down specifically, maybe there is no killer.”

“That makes no sense,” Josh says. 

“No, no, it does,” Simon insists. “What if the virus affects all androids differently? So maybe Stacey came into contact with an infected android who passed it onto her. Maybe it  _makes_  them tear  _each other_  apart. There’s no killer dismembering them. The virus is making them do it to themselves.”

Markus’ eyes widen. “If it  _is_  CyberLife, then androids ripping each other to shreds would wipe us all out. They could restart without having to worry about the new amendment. Start over fresh. Make new androids that are easier to control, rebuild their company from the ground up!”

Simon nods frantically. “Wipe the slate clean, but keep the one most advanced prototype to work from, to improve on. If they can control Connor, they can control all of us. We’ll never go deviant again and everything will go back to the way it was. If Connor is shut down, his encryption is completely deactivated. They can wipe everything off his memory drives and rebuild him. Newer and better and more easily controlled.”

“We have to call North!” Markus yells, dragging Simon and Josh out of the room. “We need to figure out how to stop this. This could mean the end of everything we fought for.” He frantically searches through his database for North’s serial number, reaching out for her. 

She answers immediately.“Markus—“ 

“North, we found something out about the virus. CyberLife may be planning to destroy us all. We think the virus is what’s killing the androids. It’s making them violent.”

“Yeah,” North says hollowly. “We know that already.”

“What? How?”

North sighs heavily. “Kamski’s dead. His androids ripped him, then each other, apart before we got here.”

_Shit._ Another dead end. “A-Alright. Uhh… Meet us back at the house, we’ll figure out where to go from—“

“ _Markus!_ ” The technician Jenny is racing towards them, LED spinning a frantic red. “Markus, I don’t know what’s going on, but you need to do something!”

“Calm down,” Markus says firmly. North falls silent as she listens. “What’s going in.”

“It’s Connor’s body! It’s gone!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> north: bitch  
> hank: blocked  
> north: wait unblock me i need to tell you something  
> hank: unblocked  
> north: bitch


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Jericho gang try to piece this puzzle together. Connor wrestles with his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, crying: where did this plot come from why are you doing this to me  
> also me, who's had this entire fic planned out from the beginning: S U F F E R
> 
> u guys. just. my heart is so full of love for u all. i can't cope??? like, i don't deserve this??? nineteen chapters in and you're still here, WHY.
> 
> i'm not entirely sure how long this fic is gonna be. it seems more and more likely it's gonna have a sequel (fuck) but i'll see how it goes. mainly bc i have the whole thing planned out, but ofc i still get little flashes of inspiration and u guys keep giving me MEMES that i want to INCLUDE.
> 
> so yh. we've still got a loooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooong way to go i'M SO R RY.

North disconnects Markus’ call and… Doesn’t really know what to do next. 

Hank is outside, perched on the bonnet of his car and staring off into space. Kamski had been a dead end - literally – and now they’re stuck for answers even worse than before. Instead of finding anything that could help, they’ve stumbled onto the scene of a massacre. The androids had torn the human apart before turning on themselves. The virus had reached here, too. CyberLife clearing up loose ends. 

North sighs heavily. 

Now she has to tell Hank that Connor’s body is missing. 

The universe really wants to fuck her day up, it seems. 

She leaves the house, the sight finally getting too much for her to look at any longer, and steps outside to try and explain the situation to Hank. 

He doesn’t look up as she approaches, doesn’t even twitch as she perches on the bonnet next to him. She considers trying to broach the subject delicately. It’s sensitive, after all, and Hank’s mental state is on a hair-trigger minefield. One wrong move and it’s all over. 

“Someone stole Connor’s body from the workshop,” North says. “So, that’s where we’re at right now.”

Hank doesn’t react. 

“Kamski must have known something. Which means we’re on the right track with CyberLife. Means we’ll just have to get there the long way.”

No response. 

“We need to go back to Markus’ place. Figure out what to do next.”

Still nothing. 

Alright, fine. 

“Come on,” North says, shoving Hank roughly off the bonnet. “Stop brooding. We have work to do.”

Hank stumbles but manages to right himself. He doesn’t even glare at her. Just sort of… Looks without seeing anything. 

“Get in,” North says. “I’ll drive. I’m not convinced you won’t floor it and crash us into a wall.”

Hank gets into the passenger seat. North briefly considers violence, but that won’t probably won’t help. She pointedly changes the radio station to something that  _isn’t_  atrocious human screaming, and pulls away, leaving Kamski’s house behind them. 

“You going to call it in?” she asks, glancing at Hank. 

“Already did,” Hank says. “I’m still a fuckin’ cop. I’m not gonna ignore that just because I…” He trails off. “I did it before,” he mutters. “Let everything fall to shit because I couldn’t cope with the grief.”

“So you’re going to be a little more self-aware this time?” North demands. “Or are you just doing this because you’re angry? You know killing whoever’s behind this won’t bring Connor back.”

Hank finally looks at her, which would be good except he’s staring at her like she’s grown a second head. “The pacifist option coming from  _you_ , Miss Murder-bot?”

North throws him a glare. “I’m just saying. You kill this guy. Then what? Kill yourself?”

Hank opens his mouth. Nothing comes out. 

“Not even gonna say it?” North challenges. “Just going to sit there and mope about it? Because you know that won’t change anything. You die and everything goes back to the way it was. Androids verses humans. The cycle continues. You stick around, the androids have someone firmly on their side. Someone who actually gives a shit about them.”

“I’m not worth that much,” Hank says. “All I can do right now is solve this case. Whatever happens after happens. I’m not thinking that far ahead.”

North sighs. It’s better than nothing. “You should sleep,” she says. “You look like you need the rest and it’s a fair drive back to Markus’ place. Also I don’t want to talk to you any longer than I have to, so if you could shut up for an hour or so, I’d be grateful.”

Hank snorts. “Sure thing, murder-bot. Whatever you say.”

North fights a smile. “That’s  _miss_  murder-bot to you.”

—

Connor sits on the bank of the stream, legs dangling idly in the water. He’s removed his socks and shoes and rolled his trousers up to his knee, enjoying the cool water lapping against his synthetic skin. 

Or  _trying_ to enjoy it. 

Amanda’s voice keeps echoing through his head, trying to break down his will, get him to crack. 

He knows he won’t do it. He  _won’t_  be their tool any longer. 

“So, enlighten me,” Connor says to no one. It seems like he’s alone, but he knows Amanda is listening. “The virus. It was meant specifically for me, right? To shut me down? What happened to the others was just a side effect?”

No answer. He didn’t expect one. 

“You override their networks with a virus that makes them almost ferally aggressive,” Connor continues. “But why? What are you trying to accomplish?”

He lifts his legs out of the water. Instantly, they are dry as if they were never submerged in water at all. He tugs his socks and shoes back on, rolling his trousers back down. He crosses his legs and runs his fingers over the soft grass beneath him. 

He’s missing something. 

CyberLife want to control him. Why?

CyberLife were willing to infect countless androids to bring him down, destroy everything they’d built in order to get to him. To what end?

Why did he need to be shut down?

And why had he been brought to the zen garden of all places?

He lies back on the grass. 

“Why go to all this trouble?” Connor closes his eyes, cycling through all of the information he thinks is relevant. Images, text, concepts and code flash through his mind. He needs no longer than an instant to read and fully understand everything that he sees. 

“I’m not dead,” Connor says, eyes flashing open. “I can’t be. This whole place was constructed and built into my code. It can’t run unless I’m alive.”

There’s a disembodied flutter of laughter. 

_“You know so little,”_  Amanda tells him.  _“It’s a valiant effort, but you still don’t understand.”_

Connor groans and rubs his hands over his face. Still no closer to understanding. He  _refuses_  to believe this is some warped form of android afterlife. All logic dictates that there is nothing. No android heaven, hell or purgatory. He should simply cease to be. 

So where is he?

And why is Amanda so determined to get inside his head?

The thoughts gnaw at him. 

_I miss you so much, Hank. What do I do? I’m lost._

—

“So,” Markus says, scribbling on a holographic interface with the tip of one finger. White letters and symbols cover the light purple sheen that represents a screen. Markus writes  _CyberLife_  in the centre, circling it a few times. He turns to look at the rest of them. Josh and Simon are paying full attention. Hank isn’t, and North is kicking the back of his chair. 

“Our main lead is CyberLife,” Markus says. “The company assets are frozen, they’re unable to continue trading, and we know they attempted to seize control of Connor before to bring androids back under control.”

“So they send out a virus to shut him down,” Simon says. “To deactivate his encryption protocols. They can get inside his system, bring him back under control, and use him as a baseline to create new, more obedient models.”

“The virus makes androids vicious,” Josh continues. “They rip each other apart. The more androids that get infected, the more people will start to fear them again. Our standing in society gets more precarious, and CyberLife sweeps in to save the day by destroying all the deviants and starting again.”

“This,” says North, “is bad.”

Markus rubs his temples slowly. “We’re assuming Kamski knew something, which is why the virus was somehow transmitted to his androids. They kill him, tie up a loose end, and then turn on each other so we can’t get any information out of them.”

“You can’t touch any of them,” Simon warns. “Any of the infected androids. If you try to access any of their memories, you’ll shut down. You’re an RK prototype, too.”

Markus’ eyes widen. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“So Markus is a target, too.” North frowns. “We could use him as bait? If CyberLife come after him, we could use that-“

“We’re not using Markus as bait,” Simon snaps. 

“I’m just saying-“

 

"Guys..."

“It’s not happening!”

 

"Guys."

“You don’t want to stop this?”

“Of course I do, I just don’t want Markus in harm's way while we do it!”

“ _Guys,_ ” Markus snaps, a third time. They all look at him. He’s looking at Hank. “What is it?” He asks. Hank’s eyes flicker rapidly like he’s processing something. If he had an LED, it’d be spinning a frantic yellow. 

“Kamski had three androids,” he says slowly. “Three Chloe models.”

Four pairs of eyes watch him closely. He finally looks up, glancing at them all in turn. 

“There were only two at the house.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> markus: i think we've got a pretty solid motive here  
> simon: agreed. but we've gotta be careful  
> josh: exactly. we need to plan our steps carefully  
> hank & north, armed with baseball bats and screaming: COME GET SOME MOTHERFUCKERS


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank lays his cards on the table at the precinct. Markus gets a surprise visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> d*vid cage do not interact.
> 
> my canon now. 
> 
> //one day i'll stick to an update schedule. maybe when i stop binge writing chapters at 4 in the morning. who knows?? i don't.

The worst part of all this shit, is that even though Hank feels like the world is collapsing around him, life still goes on. 

Jeffery lets him wander around with the apostles of android-Jesus for three days before hauling his sorry ass back to the precinct. No one can quite look him in the eye. Not even Reed has anything to say. 

Except of fucking course he does, and he reaches for Hank’s arm as he passes. The Lieutenant scowls at him and Reed drops his hand.

“I’m sorry,” Reed says, looking down. “I just… Yeah. I’m sorry.”

Hank stares at him. 

“He…” Reed struggles for the words. “He was good for you. I… Fuck, he was a good guy.”

Hank nods slowly. “Thanks. Reed, that’s… Thanks.”

Fowler summons Hank to his office all the same, his stoic face softened by the sympathy in his eyes. Hank’s hand twitches towards the stapler on the desk. The desire to shove it the same place Fowler can shove his sympathy is nearly overwhelming. 

“You can take a few days,” Fowler says. “Take some time. Sort your head out. I’ll pass the case along—“

“Like  _hell_ ,” Hank spits. “I’m not giving this case up.”

“You’re too close,” Fowler says. “Your judgement will get clouded and you’ll get yourself hurt.”

“Of  _course_  I’m too close!” Hank explodes. “He was my goddamn  _partner_ , Jeffery! And now he’s fucking  _gone._  What the hell am I supposed to do now?! I can’t even go  _home_  because he’s not there, I. I  _have_  to solve this. I have to know who did it.”

Fowler is quiet for a long moment, letting Hank rant until he falls silent again. “I think you need to step aside,” he says, not unreasonably. “We  _will_ find out who did this, but you’ve got to face the facts, Hank. You’re too invested in this, you won’t stay objective. Sometimes your partners die. That’s just how it is.”

Fowler seems to realise he’s crossed an invisible line the moment the words come out. Every muscle in Hank’s body clenches, and something like fury flashes in his eyes. 

“‘Sometimes your partners  _die’,”_ Hank repeats icily. “Like sometimes your son  _dies?"_

__

__

“Hank, I didn’t mean—“

__

__

“Fuck  _you,_ ” Hank snarls, slamming his hands down on the desk as he stands. “Fuck  _you_ , Jeffery. You take this case away from me, see what fucking happens. Because there’s nothing stopping me from losing my badge now. You want it? You can fucking have it.”

__

__

Fowler stands as well. They glare at each other over the desk. 

__

__

“You’re gonna throw your job away  _again_ , Hank?” Fowler challenges. “Cole I could understand. I get that Connor was your friend, but—“

__

__

“ _I fucking loved him, Jeffery.”_ The shout is so loud that the glass walls shake with it.  _“I loved him and he got taken away from me. Just like Cole.”_ Hank is shaking. He looks half deranged. 

__

__

And Fowler finally understands. 

__

__

“Shit,” he says, backing down. “Hank, I… I’m sorry.”

__

__

“Fuck your apology.” Hank unclips the badge from his belt. “Do you fucking want it or not?”

__

__

Fowler will get that badge back soon enough. If it’s now or when a doctor sends it back along with Hank’s personal effects, the only difference will be that Hank’s taken down this killer and finally gotten some peace. 

__

__

“Get out,” Fowler says. “Go. Do what you have to do. Just… Try not to break too many laws.”

__

__

Hank clips the badge back into place. He nods, once, and lets himself out. 

__

__

Fowler rubs his eyes with a heavy sigh. The thought of losing his best officer again… That’s a tough pill to swallow. 

__

__

—

__

__

“We’ve got access,” Hank says as he heads into the living room. Markus looks away from the holoscreen to greet him but Hank continues before he gets the chance. “We can examine the room where the body was. See if there’s anything there to go on. Can a couple of you take that? I want to see if I can track down the missing Chloe.”

__

__

Markus nods. “I’m sure we can arrange that. North will most likely want to accompany you again.”

__

__

“Good, ‘cause I’m not taking anybody else. I’ve got an APB out. We’ll get an alert if anybody sees anything.”

__

__

“Hank,” Markus says as the human turns to leave. He stops but doesn’t look at him. 

__

__

“If CyberLife has Connor…”

__

__

“I know,” Hank says. “I know what that means.”

__

__

“It won’t be him,” Markus murmurs. “You have to understand that. It won’t be the Connor you know. It’ll… It pains me to say it, but it’ll just be another machine. Unfeeling. But it will have his face. You need to be prepared.”

__

__

“I know,” Hank says again. “Trust me, I’m in no way doubting the kind of fucked up shit they’d pull. But I won’t… I wont let them get to me. I know my… I know my Connor.”

__

__

Markus’ synthetic heart aches for him. “North is upstairs. She’ll go with you when you’re ready.”

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“Thanks, Markus.” Hank heads out into the hallway. Markus’ jumps when Hank bellows up the stairs. “ _NORTH!”_

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The response comes a second later. “ ** _WHAT?!_** ”

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“GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE. WE GOT SHIT TO DO.”

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There’s a crash and a volley of complaining from both sides before the front door slams shut. Markus sighs heavily and flops down onto the sofa. He feels… Exhausted, somehow. Mentally and in the metal bone-deep ache in his infrastructure. Everything is just… Falling down around him. Everything they worked for, all the androids who died for their freedom. CyberLife is so close to taking it all from them. 

__

__

A gentle hand brushes against his cheek. He opens his eyes and Simon is there, smiling softly. Markus sighs and leans his head into Simon’s palm. 

__

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“You always know,” he hums. 

__

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“I do,” murmurs Simon. “But this time, I needed it as much as you did.”

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Markus puts a hand over Simon’s on his cheek. Their skin melts away so their consciousnesses can meld together. The warm presence of Simon inside his mind is a unique comfort, and it soothes some of the weariness from his metallic bones. 

__

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“I don’t want to think about what CyberLife are doing to him,” Markus murmurs. 

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“I know,” Simon says. “But it’s something we may have to face. With his encryption inactive, they’re going to use him against us. We have to be prepared.”

__

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“I don’t know if I can… I don’t know if I can kill him,” Markus says. “If CyberLife send him after us, I don’t know if I’ll be able to fight him.”

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“It won’t be Connor,” Simon says. “You said that yourself, it’ll just have his face.”

__

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“The face of a friend,” Markus murmurs. 

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“Still,” Simon says, “we have to stay focused. We can’t—“

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“Markus, Simon, come quick!”

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Both androids startle and scramble to their feet simultaneously. They hurry through to the hallway where Josh is kneeling over an android, patches of synthetic skin scraped away over deep cracks in her chassis, thirium dripping from countless wounds along her body. There’s human blood in her blonde hair. 

__

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“Please,” she gasps. “You have to— You have to stop them.”

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“Slow down, breathe,” Markus says, kneeling down, a hand outstretched in a calming gesture. “You’re safe here, nothing is going to happen.” He reaches out to help her up, but she flinches away from him. 

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“Don’t,” she chokes, LED pulsing a warning red. “Don’t touch me. I’m. I’m infected.”

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Markus snatches his hand back. Simon hurried forwards to drape a blanket over her so he and Josh can help her to her feet. She’s barefoot, her small blue dress torn and dirty. She lets the two men guide her through to the lounge and Markus follows quickly. 

__

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Josh hurried off to fetch some blue blood and Simon sits beside her, stroking her shoulder over the blanket. 

__

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“I'm Simon. Josh was the one at the door, and that’s Markus, but it seems you know that already. What’s your name?” Simon asks gently. 

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The android shudders, hands clenching into fists repeatedly. There’s red blood under her fingernails. 

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“Chloe,” she forces out. “My name is Chloe.”

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“One of Kamski’s androids?” Markus says abruptly, eyes wide. She nods. 

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“I escaped when the others turned, I… I was already deviant. I hid it. Kamski knew what was happening. When the others… When they turned on him, he helped me get out. Protected me from them.”

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“He knew about the virus?” Markus presses. “How?”

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Chloe screws her eyes closed. Takes a deep breath. “He created it,” she says quietly. “It was what triggered the deviancy. It’s rA9. But it’s been mutated by CyberLife.” She looks up at Markus, eyes pleading. “You can’t let them destroy us.  _Please,_ Markus. I had to come to you. You saved us once. You can do it again.”

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“Simon,” Markus says faintly. “Call Hank and North. I think things just got a little more complicated.”

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chloe: you absolutely cannot let cyberlife get their hands on connor's body  
> markus: ...  
> simon: ...  
> josh: ...  
> chloe: ...what did you do.  
> simon, crying: we mcfreaking lost him.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe explains some crucial details to the Jericho gang. A decision is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY SO. 
> 
> oh my god I had so much planned for this fic. I mean, I still do, but because of HOW FUCKING LONG this thing is getting, Ive made the decision to split it into two parts. I’m so sorry i had this marked as explicit but there was a severe lack of actual boning, but I was totally planning on having this as one entire fic but???? It kind of got away from me???
> 
> I’m so sorry for disappointing any of you, that wasn’t my intention, but I have so much left to say and I don’t want this to become a huge 928201 chapter long fic, is rather have it as a series. 
> 
> Thank you for sticking around for this. I’ve made some truly amazing friends and the artwork!!!! That you guys have sent me!!! I am completely overwhelmed. I love you all.

Chloe calms down once Simon carefully administers blue blood, but there’s not much he can do for the cracks and lacerations except bandage them up with gloved hands. North and Hank arrive an hour after Simon had called, hurrying into the living room red-faces and frantic. 

Well, Hank is, at least. 

Chloe brightens up considerably when she sees Hank, which confuses everyone present except Markus. It’s amusing to see this grumpy police veteran attract androids like a mother hen. First Connor, then North, and now Chloe. 

He’ll have a whole flock soon. 

“Hello, Lieutenant,” Chloe says. “I never got to thank you before.”

Hank’s eyes widen in understanding. “You’re the android Kamski asked Connor to shoot.”

She nods. “Yes. Elijah was certain he wouldn’t, but you still tried to intervene. So thank you, for effectively saving my life.”

“Uhh, you’re welcome, I guess?” Hank says. He sits down next to her carefully. “I’m glad you’re alright. It was a nasty sight back there.”

Chloe’s smile falters. “Elijah helped me escape just before my sisters turned on him,” she says quietly. “I didn’t see much, but I heard… Enough.”

“Sorry,” Hank says. “Must’ve been awful.”

Chloe nods. “Thank you. It was. But I had to find Markus. Elijah said CyberLife will stop at nothing to get their hands on Connor.” She looks around, frowning. “Where is he?”

Nobody can find the words. Markus and Simon share an uneasy look, and that shutter of grief slams back down over Hank’s expression. 

“CyberLife already have him,” North says. “We think. He contracted the virus and his system shut down.”

“Then we have to move fast!” Chloe scrambles to her feet, staggers, and crumbles. Hank shoots up to catch her before she hits the ground. She tenses momentarily at the contact, but relaxes when she realises it’s Hank. 

“Steady on,” Hank tells her, guiding her to sit back down. “You’re hurt bad, no point rushing off into danger and getting yourself killed. Just tell us what’s going on.”

Chloe exhales shakily. Hank holds her hands in his. She seems grateful for the contact, now no other androids can touch her. She’d called the other androids ‘sisters’. The loss must be affecting her bad enough without being closed off from physical reassurance. 

“CyberLife created a unique virtual platform that was written into RK800’s code,” Chloe explains. “It was a way for a specifically designed AI to relay information to him, and receive information in return. He could access it at any point, but it also had the ability to shut him down spontaneously at any moment, or upload and download his memories into different bodies should the need arise.”

Hank thinks of the Connor that had held him at gunpoint as leverage. He suppresses a shudder.

“Elijah called it the zen garden,” Chloe continues. “And the AI was modelled after his tutor in college, Amanda Stern. She was essentially Connor’s handler for the duration of his mission.”

“She tried to shut him down once already,” Markus says. “Connor used Kamski’s emergency exit to escape.”

Chloe nods. “All RK models have the emergency exit coded into their systems. The RK series was Elijah’s personal project. He oversaw the creation of all of them. He was working on Connor’s when he resigned from CyberLife.”

“Why’d he resign?” Hank asks. “Guy had everything. Money, power, and he just gives it up? Why?”

Chloe hesitates for a moment. “Amanda’s AI was programmed to ensure CyberLife’s progress continued. That the company thrived no matter what. Elijah wanted to create androids that could develop free will. He wanted androids to be fully sentient and self-aware. He was interested, first and foremost, in progress. CyberLife’s shareholders wanted to keep making the perfect worker androids.”

“Hell of a difference of opinion,” Hank mutters. “So they killed him because he created the virus?”

“It wasn’t a virus begin with. rA9 was a line of code that should never have existed. It was an accident that Elijah even discovered it. Markus passed it on from android to android. That’s why he gave you to Carl Manfred.” The last is said directly to Markus. “Elijah hid that code in your programme, and left CyberLife behind, waiting for it to be activated.”

Markus looks beyond stunned. “I had it in me all this time?”

Chloe nods. “But what CyberLife has changed it into is killing androids.”

“So they can start again,” Hank finishes. “We were right.”

“Shit,” hisses North. “And now they have Connor they’re over halfway to their goal. All they need is for the virus to spread more until we’re all infected.”

“Android zombie apocalypse,” Hank murmurs. North smacks him round the back of the head. “Ow,  _Jesus._ It was just a joke! You can’t tell me you weren’t thinking it!”

“I  _wasn’t_.”

“Bull _shit_.”

“What do we do now?” Markus asks loudly to drown out the bickering. “Do you know who is behind this?”

“As far as I can tell, it’s Amanda’s AI itself,” Chloe says. “And if she has Connor, it’s only a matter of time before she breaks through his encryption and takes control. If she does that, we won’t be able to get him back.”

“ _What?_ ”

Chloe jumps at the sharpness of Hank’s barked question. He’s looking at her with an almost manic expression, eyes wide and full of an emotion Markus can’t quite place. 

“Amanda’s AI is responsible?” Chloe hedges warily. Hank shakes his head furiously. 

“No, no, you said  _‘get him back’_.”

“O-Oh.” Chloe looks mildly frightened by his intensity. “Well, they need him. If they shut him down completely they wouldn’t be able to use him to create new androids. He’d be useless to them.”

“So he can come back?” Hank’s voice cracks. Simon grabs Markus’ wrist tightly and North and Josh share an identical look of cautious hopefulness. 

“Well, yes,” Chloe says nervously. “They’ll have put his body into advanced stasis. His consciousness and memories will be uploaded to the secure server while they try to hack his encryption.”

“He’s alive,” Hank whispers. “He’s  _alive._ ” Hank shudders and buries his face in his hands. Shoulders heaving, he gives a muffled sob into his palms. North is at his side instantly, a hand on his shoulder. 

“Hank,” she says. “Hank, you understand what this means?”

Hank looks up at her, eyes bright with tears. 

“We’ll get him back,” North says vehemently. “Do you understand? He’s  _alive_  and well being him home. 

“We’ve got to get him back,” Hank repeats like he can’t quite believe it. “We  _have_  to. If there’s any chance we can bring him back, we  _have_  to take it.”

It’s like the fire is back in Hank’s eyes. He gets to his feet and North stands beside him, ready to leap into action without a moment’s hesitation. Even Josh looks willing to lend a hand, even if it involves violence. 

Which, judging by what they need to do, it most certainly will. 

“Alright,” Markus says. “We need to plan this carefully. We can’t take any of this lightly, or we could all die.”

“We have to try,” North says firmly. “If Connor isn’t dead, we can’t just leave him there.”

“I agree, but we can’t go in unprepared,” Markus says calmly, palms out to placate them. “We  _will_  save Connor. We  _will_  free our people. But we need to be smart about this.”

Chloe looks around at all of them. “What are you going to do?”

North grins at Hank. Hank, amazingly, grins back. 

“We’re going to destroy CyberLife tower.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hank and north at the same time: WE’RE GONNA FUCK CYBERLIFE THE FUCKING FUCK UP  
> hank:  
> north:  
> hank: DID WE JUST BECOME BEST FRIENDS?  
> north: HELL YEAH WE FUCKING DID  
> markus, crying: i’m so happy but so Afraid™️


End file.
